


The Language of Love

by LapfulofMisha



Category: Supernatural
Genre: #PrayForSam, Case Fic, Dean Angst, Gay Panic, John Winchester’s A+ parenting, Kidnapping, M/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Sam receives unwanted advances from women including minor touching (above the waist), cas angst, mild joking reference to bestiality, non-canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-05-19 22:19:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LapfulofMisha/pseuds/LapfulofMisha
Summary: Sam, Dean and Cas roll into a small town to investigate three strange deaths. Things get weird almost immediately when some unusual women hit on Sam. Things get worse when Dean unwittingly says something that hurts Cas - a lot. And things become unbearable when Dean is struck by a curse that leaves him unable to communicate at all; any time he tries to talk, he speaks gibberish.Then Sam disappears, and it falls on Cas to save him. Cas also needs to find a way to help Dean AND stop a supernatural killer before more people die. Being the useless sidekick doesn't sit well with Dean when so much is at stake. But he's trapped in his own head and can only watch, replaying over and over the things he said that he can't even apologize for. The more he's alone with his own thoughts, the more he realizes his feelings for Cas aren't as platonic as he's been pretending. But unless they find a counter curse, he can't do anything about them. And he'll be muttering incomprehensible nonsense forever.





	1. The good, the bad, and the boogeyman

**Author's Note:**

> While I was googling urban legends about the boogeyman, I came across El Sombrerón, a Guatemalan tale told to young ladies. (I took a few liberties with the legend for the purposes of this story). So, Spanish speakers who might wonder why the villain’s name is “the big hat” – now you know.

At the literal end of the road (and possibly the world), Dean drives onto the only turnoff they’ve seen in hours. The narrow road is covered in gravel and leads down a short hill to the first sign of civilization in at least 200 miles. A tiny, run-down gas station and a rustic looking diner sit side-by-side on the far edge of an unpaved parking lot. If not for the couple dozen pickups parked haphazardly by the two buildings, he would guess they were both abandoned. Dean’s pretty sure a strong wind could blow them over, but after driving nonstop for most of the day through absolute nothingness, they’re not passing up on a chance to finally eat. He would park in quicksand and eat a hotdog off the ground right now.

Hopefully, food and a couple beers will improve everyone’s mood. They’ve been in the car together for a _long_ time.

Dean stretches his aching muscles after getting out of the car. A few wisps of clouds float leisurely across the deep blue sky, but they dissipate quickly over the mountains. The foothills that crept up on both sides of the road while they drove are stunning; the rocky hills made of grey stone are streaked with red, white and yellow minerals. Purple, white and blue wildflowers and a few brave trees grow randomly through cracks in the rock.   

“Maybe we can ask someone in there where we can find a motel,” Sam suggests as he closes the car door. As if that even matters when they are so close to beer and cheeseburgers. _Bacon_ cheeseburgers, if they’re lucky.

Dean scowls at the pinkish brown dirt-sand-clay-whatever the hell it is that’s been thrown onto his car and is now marring her shiny exterior.

“Would you look at this?” he growls. “Look at what your crappy navigating skills have done to my car! Some of those roads you led us on were more like - mere suggestions of places where roads could possibly be built!”

Sam opens his mouth, probably to say it was his phone’s fault, but Dean doesn’t want to listen to him anymore and shuts him up with a glare.

As Dean heads for the diner’s front door, he glances at Cas, who at some point silently left the backseat and crossed the parking lot. He’s studying a dirt road that heads higher into the hills from the back lot of the diner. Christ, only Cas would waste time staring at a road when they could be eating. He clearly doesn’t understand the therapeutic value of greasy food.

“Cas!” he says, a little more sharply than he intended. It’s been a long day. “We can gaze at the fucking dirt later. I need to eat.”

Cas turns around, ignoring him and looking alarmed. “Sam, Dean, you should see this.”

“Whatever it is, it can wait until my stomach’s taken care of,” Dean snaps. He continues into the diner with Sam following silently behind him. Cas walks in a few seconds later.

The diner’s walls are polished slats of wood, adorned with rusty antique farming tools, framed newspaper clippings, horseshoes decorated with wire and flowers, and taxidermy birds. Neon beer signs contrast sharply with the low lighting, loud music, and rough-looking locals.

Unsurprisingly, most of the room’s conversations come to a standstill as the local population notices Cas walking in with his suit and trenchcoat. In a room where people are dressed in jeans, work shirts, coveralls, and army jackets, he stands out like a nun in a brothel. Dean sees dozens of sets of wary, irritated, hostile eyes glaring at the angel. He grabs Cas by the lapels, shoves him into the closest unoccupied booth and slides in next to him.

Cas, oblivious to the tension, glances at him in mild confusion, then looks out the window by their booth as Sam slides in on the other side.

Dean shifts in the seat. “Fuck’s sake, Sam, keep your gangly legs on your own side. We barely have any room over here as it is!”

Sam rolls his eyes and moves his legs.

The noise in the bar resumes; apparently Guy In A Suit isn’t as interesting as whatever else they’re discussing. After important business is taken care of (food and beer are ordered), Dean begins to relax, and looks at Sam. “Do you seriously think we’re hunting the boogeyman?”

“Some of the locals seem to think so. Listen to this.” Sam pulls a newspaper out of thin air (because he’s Sam) and spreads it on the table. “‘Three young women in the area have been murdered over the past three weeks. All three victims were twenty years old and almost anorexic-level thin; there seems to be no other connections between them. Each of them was found in the same area of Rocky Road Park, near the Forbidden part of the forest -’”

“Forbidden forest? _Really_?”

Sam looks up at Dean and shrugs before continuing. “’The unusual circumstances of their demise have some superstitious locals wondering if there’s a boogeyman in our midst. Each victim’s mouth was filled with sand. Police have concluded that the girls were attacked near the park’s picnic area prior to their bodies being dumped in the trees. The sand underneath the playground equipment likely entered the girls’ mouths as they inhaled and screamed after being thrown to the ground by their attacker. However, some people think that theory is implausible. Additionally, police have no explanation for why they were moved into the forest, nor are they commenting on the official cause of death. The Aspen Grove Police Department advises citizens to travel in groups for safety and has recommended residents return to their homes before dusk.’”

Dean absently runs his fingers along the grooves scratched into the wooden table. “So, a few people turn up dead and they automatically assume boogeyman? _Boogeyman?_ ”

“It’s not just that.” Sam folds up the newspaper and slides it out of the way. “I found a local blog about the history of this area. Turns out a few details didn’t make it into the papers.”

“You don’t say,” Dean says dryly.

“ _Apparently,_ ” Sam continues, “a lot of people have reported seeing things from the corner of their eye: shadows, black silhouettes, dark shapes they can’t identify and, of course, the boogeyman.”

Dean hums. “A boogeyman in a park. Don’t they usually go after younger kids though? You know, sleep tight, don’t let the boogeyman bite?” Dean grins.

“I have never encountered a boogeyman.”

“Why, Cas! How nice of you to join the conversation,” Dean says pleasantly.

“Also,” Cas continues, scowling as he glares at Dean, “I believe you mean, don’t let the _bedbugs_ bite. The saying originated in the 1700’s, when-”

“It was a joke, Cas!” Dean looks at him, exasperated. Sometimes he wonders if Cas says shit like this just to fuck with him. Cas opens his mouth to say something, then looks at Sam helplessly.

“It was a _lame_ joke,” Sam corrects.

Three beers arrive in ice cold glasses, and Dean takes a long drink. God, he needed that.

Suddenly Dean feels Cas go still beside him.

“Dude, what’s the matter?”

Castiel narrows his eyes and looks around the diner, completely silent and unnaturally alert. Dean thinks maybe even his hair is standing up more than usual.

“Cas? What is it?” Dean asks quietly, resting a hand on his arm. When Cas doesn’t answer, Dean follows his eyes. He doesn’t see that anything has changed: several people sit on barstools gossiping with the bartender. A few others fill the rest of the booths, conversing in various stages of loud that correlate directly with the amount of alcohol consumed while they eat burgers and waffle fries. One woman walks quickly toward the restroom; a guy loiters by the jukebox. On the other side of the bar, a pool table is crammed into an area that has just enough space for people to use it, and two teenage boys are rolling the colored balls back and forth across the surface.

“Cas?” Sam prods gently. “Tell us what’s happening.”

Cas suddenly relaxes. Frowning, he looks from Sam to Dean and takes a deep breath. “It is – I felt something. Something very – old.”

“Do you mean, like, beginning of time old, or Sam’s sex-fantasy-grandmas old?” Dean asks seriously.

Sam wads up a napkin and throws it at him.

Cas shakes his head, ignoring them both and frowning.

“Cas?”

“I’m not sure,” he murmurs. “The feeling has passed. But I saw something earlier, behind the diner. You know, when you blew me off?” He glares at Dean.

Dean starts to defend the needs of his stomach, but Sam cuts him off.

“Tell us what you saw,” Sam encourages, giving Dean a Significant Look, as if _his_ stomach had been willing to stop and wait for Cas.

Cas tilts his head, eyes glazing over. “Behind the diner is a dirt road. It probably leads up to the town we’ve been looking for. It was – there was a purple energy field flickering over the surface.”

“Energy fields have colors?” Sam interrupts.

“Of course,” Cas replies, the look on his face implying this is common knowledge, which it most definitely is _not_. “I doubt it has anything to do with your _boogeyman_ ,” he pauses to raise an eyebrow at Dean. “but it _was_ left by a supernatural entity. To leave behind a trail of energy like that -” He shakes his head, looking thoughtful. “We need to be careful.”

Dean notices his hand is still on Cas’s arm for some reason. He nonchalantly draws back as Sam looks at him curiously.

Their plates are delivered by a tanned, muscular woman instead of the gangly dude that took their order. Her dyed-blond hair is sneaking out of its long, wavy ponytail. Although she looks like she’s been on her feet nonstop for three days, she’s friggin’ hot. Dean tips his head back and smiles at her. She smiles back indulgently before turning her back and walking to another customer’s table. Dean closes his mouth and slumps back against the booth. For some reason Cas rolls his eyes.

“You’re such a dumbass, Dean,” Sam chuckles. “She’s obviously not into dudes.”

Oh. How does Sam always know this stuff? With a sigh, he bites into his burger. Grease runs down his fingers, and this is possibly the greatest thing he has tasted in years. Sam has a portabella mushroom burger (which technically isn’t even _food_ , in Dean’s opinion), and Cas has a beer.

As Dean swallows the last of the beer from his bottle (and considers asking Cas why he’s staring at his throat), a thirty-something Latino man suddenly slides into their booth next to Sam. Dean automatically reaches for the .45 in his coat as Sam’s head jerks around in surprise. Cas puts his hand on Dean’s arm to keep him from pulling the gun.

“Dean. Don’t!” Sam commands.

 

“I heard you talkin’ about the boogeyman,” says the stranger in a loud whisper, oblivious to the fact that Dean almost pulled a gun on him. “Ain’t no boogeyman you’re lookin’ for.” He looks around the bar as if he’s afraid someone’s watching him.

 

Sam glances at Dean, who almost imperceptibly nods agreement, then quietly says, “Tell us what you know.”

 

The guy leans back in the booth, and Dean takes a moment to study him. He’s neatly dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and a jacket. Black hair is drawn tightly into a ponytail. He’s wearing a simple gold wedding band on a work-hardened hand, and a gold chain hangs around his neck. Dude looks completely average, Dean thinks, certainly doesn’t give the impression of a superstitious townsperson who has nothing better to do than spread rumors.

 

“My throat’s very dry. It’d be easier to talk if I had a drink,” the stranger says. 

 

“Dude, it has been a long day, and I’m too tired for bullshit. Talk. Or leave,” Dean says impatiently. He shakes Cas’s hand off and crosses his arms.

 

“Dean, he may – remember more if he has a beer or two.” The stranger nods in agreement. Despite Dean’s glare, Sam flags down the waitress, and orders another round.

 

The stranger, satisfied, says, “I’ve seen the monster you’re looking for. He lives in the Forbidden forest behind the park.” The guy looks around the bar again and whispers, “you can’t see his face. He hides under a big black hat. I didn’t think at first that it was him, because I thought he was only a legend in Guatemala. I was wrong.”

 

“Who, or what, did you see?” Cas asks.

 

The guy flinches in surprise when their waitress brings the beers.

_Paranoid much?_ Dean thinks.

 

“It was _El Sombrerón_ ,” he says, dark brown eyes deadly serious. “The man with the big hat.”

 

Sam raises his eyebrows like he recognizes the name. “He’s kind of like a boogeyman though, right? He dresses in black? His hat is huge, almost comically big?”

 

“ _God_ you’re a nerd,” Dean mumbles.

 

“There’s nothing comical about _El Sombrerón_ ,” the stranger says harshly. “He tries to seduce young women.”

 

“Don’t we all,” Dean cracks.

 

Cas discreetly elbows him in the ribs, hard. It fucking _hurts_.

 

“You are not taking this seriously!” He looks around and lowers his voice. “He is a murderer! He has killed many and now he is here, killing more! The young women – if they reject him, he contaminates their food with rocks and soil, and they starve to death.”

 

“That would explain why they were all underweight,” Sam muses.

 

“But, rocks and soil?” Cas asks, confused. “Weren’t the victims found with _sand_ in their mouths?”

 

“You tell me.” The man drinks his beer and sets the bottle down with a thud. “I can tell you this. He has a thing about braids. He likes to braid hair.”

 

“Okay that’s – I don’t know what that is,” Dean admits. A hair-braiding monster. That’s new.

 

The guy scans his surroundings again, and his eyes focus on something (or someone?) outside the window. Without warning, he stands up suddenly and says, loudly, “ _muchas gracias por la cerveza, mis amigos. Hasta luego.”_

“Sir, wait -” Sam tries, but the man walks quickly away, blends in with a family that’s heading to the register to pay for their meal, and disappears.

 

After a brief silence, Sam asks, “Did anyone else find that - odd? We didn’t even get his name.”

 

Cas looks out the window. “I see nothing that appears threatening. Perhaps his sudden departure had nothing to do with the information he gave us.”

 

“Or maybe he just wanted a free beer.” He glares at Sam, who sighs and rolls his eyes. “In _any_ case,” Dean concedes, “we might as well check out this - _El Sombrero_.”

 

“ _El Sombrerón_ , Dean,” Sam corrects him tersely.

 

“That’s what I said.”

 

Dean finishes up his burger. It’s amazing how filling the stomach with greasy food and a couple beers can change your entire outlook on life, he reflects. He rests his back against the padded vinyl booth. “If our killer turns out to be this – _monster_ ,” he tells Cas thoughtfully, “Sam could be in serious danger. A monster that likes to braid hair -”

 

“Shut up, Dean.”

 

He shrugs, looking at Sam innocently. “All I’m saying is-”

 

“Shut _up_ , Dean.”

 

Dean winks at him before returning his full attention to Cas. “You’ve barely touched that beer, Cas. Uh, Cas?”

 

Cas, tense and hyper-focused, is scanning the area again. When he finally notices Dean and Sam staring at him, he shakes his head.

 

“That same feeling as before- it was here and gone before I could identify it.”

 

“What do you think it is?” Sam asks quietly.

 

“I’m not sure.” Cas leans his head back in frustration and closes his eyes.

 

“Could it have anything to do with this _El Sombrerón_?” persists Sam.

 

“I said I’m not sure!” Cas snaps. “Don’t you think I would tell you if I knew there was a connection to the case?”

 

“Back off, Sam,” Dean says quietly. Cas has been weirdly testy lately. He studies Cas’s face carefully. Grace or no Grace, he looks tired. Cas catches him looking, and stares back with an expression of frustration, or maybe resignation? Dean’s ability to decipher Cas hasn’t helped him figure out what’s been bothering him lately. And getting Cas to open up and talk about feelings is kind of like trying to count a leopard’s spots…while the leopard’s running. And he’s not exactly good at the touchy-feely emotional crap anyhow. Dean realizes he’s still staring into Cas’s eyes and should probably stop.

 

He’s still trying to decide if he should say something when he hears, “Hey, sugar. What’s up?”

 

Dean turns to tell the woman not now, and sees that she’s squeezed herself into the booth next to Sam. She’s almost exactly what he would picture as Sam’s type, actually; tall, shoulder length dark hair, not too much makeup, fit, and dressed nicely but simply (jeans and a plain teal t-shirt, with a little gold chain necklace around her neck).

 

Sam looks wide-eyed at Dean, and finally recovers enough to find his voice. “Uh, ma’am, I -”

 

“Gina,” she smiles sweetly. “Not ma’am.” She looks at Sam like she’s admiring a famous painting in a museum. “I’ve been searching for you my entire life.”

 

Dean rolls his eyes. He’s used that line a few times. No one falls for that cheesy shit. Well, maybe one or two people fall for it, but Sam better not.

 

“Okay, um. Gina. I think – you may have mistaken me for someone else,” Sam says, recovering his composure. She bumps her shoulder into him in a familiar way, as if she were his friend or partner.

 

“Don’t be shy, sweetheart.” She glances at Dean and Cas before peering at Sam. “Do your friends not know of your importance?”

 

Importance. He and Cas will _never_ hear the end of this.

 

Sam, however, looks a little freaked out. Even Dean has to admit this woman’s tactics are a bit weird.

 

“There’s nothing special about me. I really think you’re looking for someone else. I’m - not from around here.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous!” She scoffs. “Of course you’re not from around here! But it is an amazing location you’ve chosen, _Hiari_. Your timing is perfect. I’ve prepared a quiet, beautiful place for us to be together.” She runs a finger down his neck.

 

Aaaand this has now crossed the line into creepy.

 

Sam looks to Dean for help. Sam’s politeness is not getting the point across. She obviously believes Sam is someone else - _Hiari_ , whoever the hell that is. Sam is uncomfortable, and that’s reason enough to get rid of her, but she’s _determined_. Dean tries to figure out a way to get her to leave without drawing attention to themselves, but he comes up with nothing.

 

Cas, however, is just as done with her as he and Sam are and has no qualms about telling her so. He glares at her, head tilted, eyes narrowed, and says, “Miss – Gina, we are currently in the middle of – a serious discussion, and you are interrupting. I assure you, Sam is not a – _Hiari_ , and you are making him uncomfortable. You are being rude, and you need to leave.”

 

Huh. Score one for Cas and his developing social skills. He’ll never admit this to anyone, but he really kind of digs it when Cas goes all I’m-a-badass-angel-of-the-lord. It’s kind of – hot, although he definitely doesn’t think of Cas as _hot_. Cas is his best friend, not – that.

 

Dean realizes suddenly that ‘Gina’ is taller than Sam – significantly. How the hell did he miss that? Maybe she’s a professional basketball player?  


“Clearly,” she says snottily to Cas, “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. As for you, Sam, I’d know you anywhere. Your firm muscular body, your eyes, your sweet smile-” She reaches up and cups his face. Sam flinches hard enough to hit his knees on the underside of the table and winces.

 

How does she know Sam’s name? And if she knows he’s _Sam_ , then what the hell is this _Hiari?_ Dean looks around to see if they’re being recorded. Maybe this is some kind of (totally unethical) social experiment where they throw some random dude into a weird situation to see how he reacts. He’s disappointed when he sees that no one seems interested in them at all. Maybe this sort of thing happens a lot around here.

 

Sam backs himself closer to the wall to get away from her. “Gina,” he says the name coarsely, as if it offends his tongue. “If you’re, uh, looking for a client? I’m not, uh-”

 

 _Oh God, Sam, that’s subtle._ Dean shows remarkable restraint by not putting his head in his hands.

 

She springs from the booth, offended, and Dean realizes she’s not just tall, she’s _incredibly_ tall. She’s well over seven and a half feet, and it’s not because of high heels; she’s wearing tennis shoes. And there’s not an ounce of fat anywhere on her body, at least none that Dean can see.

 

“I am not a prostitute,” she hisses.

 

If this situation could be any more awkward, Dean’s not sure how. He glances at Cas, who is studying the entire situation with his humans-are-ridiculous-and-confusing face.

 

“I’m sorry. It’s just that – I don’t know you, and you, uh, come on a little strong.”

 

“Am I not what you expected?” she asks. The anger drains out of her, and now she just seems confused.

 

“I think you’re very attractive, and I’m sure you’re a nice person,” Sam stutters, “but I’m not really looking for anyone right now.” Sam looks at her with his patented puppy dog eyes, and Dean bites his tongue to keep from laughing at him.

 

“I understand,” she says, nodding. “I have not met your requirements.” With those strange parting words, she turns and walks away.

 

Sam watches her leave and looks up. “Not a word, Dean.”

Dean shrugs.

“I mean it, Dean.”

“I haven’t said anything!”

Cas looks between the two of them. “What do you suppose she meant by ‘Sam’s importance’?”

“Well,” Dean begins, as Sam mutters, “here we go”. “Either she needs work with her pickup lines, or she’s got him confused with someone else.”

Sam glares at him.

“Why would someone act in such an aggressive and confusing manner if they wanted to -” Holy mother of bacon, why does Cas look so _embarrassed_ – “-if they wanted to _be_ with Sam?”

Dean nearly chokes on his beer. “Why do you want to know about _that_?” he demands.

Looking down at the table, Cas admits, “I wish to learn about human mating rituals.”

Dean thinks many things and says none of them. Cas may not be completely at full power, but he’s still mostly angel, and angels aren’t supposed to think about _human mating rituals._

Cas gives him a strange look as Dean turns his head to look for their server to order another beer. His eyes grow large and he leans back against the booth with a thump. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

Another extraordinarily tall woman approaches their booth. A red dress clings to her curves, and soft black ringlets hang halfway down her back. She looks even more out of place than Cas, but no one else in the diner seems to notice. She leans over the booth until her face is inches from Sam’s.

“Hello, darling. Wanna dance?”

_What the fuck?_

Sam clears his throat. He seems fairly composed, all things considered. “I’ve been driving for two days. I really just need some rest.”

“Hmm. I can help you relax,” she says with a lilt in her voice. She extends a perfectly manicured hand. “Come with me.”

Sam stares at her wordlessly.

“We’ll start with a massage,” she says seductively. “I’ll loosen up those tight, aching muscles so they can be used for – well, the things they’re _meant_ to be used for.” She winks. “I’ll start at the top and work my way – down -” her gaze ventures south, and Dean thinks he’s going to puke.

“Lady. We are sitting _right here_.”

“Yes,” she says slowly, looking from Dean to Cas. “But you are not – suitable.” Turning back to Sam, she says, “you, however, definitely are. You are _Hiari_. Come on, darling, let’s get out of here.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Sam tells her in a voice that leaves no room for argument.  

After the most uncomfortable silence in the history of uncomfortable silences, Dean tells her solemnly, “Look, it’s nothing personal, okay? Thing is, he actually just went through a really bad break up. His girlfriend found out about this thing he likes to do with baby bunnies-”

“Oh my _god_ , Dean!”

This woman looks as eerily confused as the first woman. What the _hell_ is going on here? It’s like they’ve unwittingly discovered the weirdest singles’ bar in existence.

“What does Sam like to do with baby bunnies?” Cas whispers, concerned.

“I have no interest in his past sexual escapades. Even if they include -” She looks briefly confused. “- bunnies.”

“Dean,” Cas whispers as he leans into him, “having sexual relations with bunnies -”

Dean leans back against Cas (only to make sure he can hear him, of course, not because he wants the bodily contact) and says quietly, “Again. It’s a joke, Cas. Remember what Sam and I taught you about sarcasm?” Dean stares at Cas’s pink lips and licks his own.

“I have _never_ done anything inappropriate with bunnies! Or any other animals!” Sam practically shouts. A few nearby tables fall silent. A woman in a booth puts her arm around the little boy next to her and pulls him closer.

“As I said, what’s important is now, not the past,” she says in a syrupy voice. She reaches up and gently runs a fingertip across Sam’s lower lip.

He pulls away. “Lady, I don’t know what kind of joke you’re playing, but it’s not funny. Whatever this is – it ends. Now.”

“You think I’m - playing a joke? What’s happened to you?” Her eyes flicker to Cas and Dean, then back to Sam. “They have corrupted you! You must come with me for your own safety!” She grabs his hand, but he yanks it away.

“That’s _it_! I am not a _Hirahi! Hiari!_ Whatever! You need to leave.”

Stunned, she starts to say something but apparently thinks better of it. Instead, she turns and walks slowly to the door (finally). She glances back at Sam, black curls bouncing as she leaves.

Dean looks around; no one seems to notice the giant women who’ve been hitting on Sam. Fortunately, it’s fairly loud in the room; voices combine into white noise, glasses slam down at the bar, the jukebox blares a country song. At least no one seems to have overheard their slightly too loud conversation. Dean almost feels like they’re in a bubble. A weird, dreamy bubble, set aside by the Universe for the specific purpose of getting Sam laid.

Stranger things have happened.

“We need to leave. Now,” Cas commands, looking around suspiciously.

Sam now looks as unnerved as Dean has seen him in a while. “Cas, what’s happening here? You must have _some_ idea?”

Ignoring him, Cas turns to Dean and pushes him out of the booth. Dean’s feet scramble frantically to keep him from falling into the crowded table next to them. “Jesus Christ, Cas!”

Sam quickly digs some money out of his wallet and throws it on the table as Cas herds them out of the diner. The instant they walk out the door, Sam spots an attractive woman walking across the parking lot who must be at least a foot taller than he is. She sees him and her face lights up.

“Get in the car,” Cas demands. “ _Right now_.”

For the second time tonight, Cas is pulling the badass angel card. Fuck, this is not the time to think about – that. At least it’s shadowy enough in the car that they can’t see the blush creeping into Dean’s cheeks. More importantly they can’t see what’s happening between his legs. Fucking hell.

As soon as Dean starts the engine, Cas says, “Take the dirt road next to the diner.”

“You mean the purple _glowing_ dirt road you were looking at earlier?” Dean asks incredulously.

“Drive!” Cas commands, pulling on Dean’s arm and pointing in the direction of the dirt road.

“Damn backseat driver,” Dean mumbles as he peels out and onto the road. Hairpin curves make the road difficult to navigate, and the washboard surface shakes the entire Impala like dice in the hands of a very enthusiastic gambler. The terrain changes from rocky foothills to lush green hills framing a plateau, climbing toward the nearby mountains. Dirt and gravel become pavement, and a couple miles in they see a sign, Aspen Grove. He’ll give Cas this one; they’ve _finally_ found their destination.

After stopping for gas and beer, they drive through the little town. Settled in a wide-open valley, the town is snuggled away from the rest of civilization. It barely rates a dot on the map. Evergreen, aspen and pine trees populate the area left of the main highway. The old storefronts and buildings standing off to the right give the town a striking resemblance to the Old West (Dean likes this town already). Just outside the city limits on the opposite side of town, they stop at the only motel and rent a room with two beds and a couch. After unloading their things and putting a salt line across the door and window ledges, Dean sits on the edge of the nearest bed.

Sam drops into the chair by the window. “So, uh, are we gonna talk about what happened back there?”

“Yeah, Cas almost knocked me into a table full of seriously angry looking dudes. I could’ve died,” Dean jokes as he winks at Castiel. “Seriously, though - those giant women – that’s weird in itself. But Sam getting hit on twice in one night? That’s unprecedented.”

Sam rolls his eyes and opens his laptop. “Would you at least _try_ to be serious? Maybe they were sisters? They could have some sort of genetic propensity toward unusual height.”

Castiel removes his shoes and stretches out across the bed that’s opposite Dean. He frowns at the ceiling like it’s done something wrong. “Dean’s right. It _is_ unusual that two women approached you in the same night. Potentially three,” he adds. “And no one hit on Dean.”

“What is _with_ you guys?” Sam glowers at both of them, offended. “Do you really think it’s that weird that two attractive women hit on me? Not everyone’s into _jerks_ , Dean,” he says maliciously. Turning to Cas he adds, “The reason no one hit on Dean is everyone thought the two of you were a couple! You were practically sitting in each other’s laps!”

“It was a small booth!” Dean snaps indignantly.

“That doesn’t explain why you were staring longingly into each other’s eyes,” Sam taunts, stretching out the word ‘longingly’ for several seconds.

“We were not-” Cas begins, looking away from the ceiling to stare sheepishly at Sam.

“You totally were. Seriously, the tension between you two - sometimes I wish you would just -” Sam waves his hand, “I can’t believe I’m actually gonna say this, but I’m gonna start getting a separate room on hunts so you two can get it out of your systems!”

 _What?_ Oh god - Sam’s noticed the way he looks at Cas? It wasn’t – he and Cas had intense conversations, that’s all! And Dean’s curiosity about Cas was _\- entirely heterosexual_ \- Did people seriously think he and Cas were together? _Together_ together? Cas must be horrified. And just when Cas was starting to try and figure out how to flirt with people? Mating rituals, whatever? And, _what the fuck_ , did Sam just imply that he and Cas -  Dean needs to shut this shit down. Right now.

“First of all, I am not attracted to Cas!” Dean shouts, a little louder than he intended. “And what exactly do you think he and I would do alone in a bedroom? Watch porn and jerk each other off? That’s – that’s – that’s _gross_!” he snarls, not seeing Cas flinch. “And I sure as hell wouldn’t ‘stare longingly into his eyes’. For fuck’s sake, Sam, even if I was into dudes, which I’m not, Cas isn’t – he’s _Cas!_ He’s not even _human_! That’s – it’s creepy!”

Sam rolls his eyes and stands up. “Logical as always. You’re such a dick.” He gets to his feet and grabs his phone off the table. “Don’t take your gay panic out on Cas. I’m going for a walk. I need some air.” Sam glances at Cas apologetically and slams the door on his way out.

Dean huffs and turns to Cas, who looks away. Dean’s blinks in surprise as he gets a glimpse of Cas’s hurt expression. Dean sighs. Sometimes he forgets Cas doesn’t care about sexual orientation, and he clearly doesn’t understand why Dean’s upset. And - maybe he overreacted. A little.

“Cas-”

“As I don’t require food, I will remain in the car when you stop to eat in the future,” he says softly.  He swings his legs over the other side of the bed and stares intently at the wall. “No one will see us as – a couple – that way. I wouldn’t want to cock-lock you.”

“Cock _block_ , Cas, and that’s just childish! And _ridiculous._ There’s no reason for -”

“I have no wish to embarrass you further,” Cas says tonelessly, refusing to look at him.

“Cas – I’m not – you didn’t – you haven’t -”

They are both startled when Cas’s phone rings. God, he’s got to change that damn ringtone. Every time Cas gets a call, Dean hears “I’m an angel with a shotgun” over and over in his head. For hours. _Hours._

Cas still avoids his eyes as he pulls the phone from his coat and answers it.

“Charlie!” he says, getting off the bed and walking to the other side of the room. “Are you making progress on your website?”

Dean gapes at him and wonders what the hell just happened.

Cas talks animatedly to Charlie about websites, costumes and – swords, really? and almost seems like a different person. He’s still a little surprised by Cas and Charlie’s almost immediate friendship. He supposes he shouldn’t be. They both feel like outsiders, and Cas has an almost childlike fascination with the things she talks to him about.

Dean finds the remote and flips on the TV before opening a beer and slouching back against the headboard.

*****

After talking through an entire episode of Dr. Sexy, Cas puts his phone away and looks around the room. “Where’s Sam?” he asks, concerned. “He’s been gone for over an hour.”

Startled, Dean looks at the door, half-expecting Sam to materialize in front of it. Fuck, he was lost in his own head so long that he didn’t notice. He grabs his phone and scrolls to Sam’s number. A moment later, Sam’s voice tells him to leave a message, or, if it’s urgent, to call Dean.

“Damnit!” Dean hisses.

“I’ll go look for him.” Cas has already put his shoes back on and is walking toward the door. He doesn’t even glance in Dean’s direction.

“I’m coming with you,” Dean says gruffly, reaching for the remote and clicking off the TV.

Cas pauses but doesn’t turn around. “You should stay here in case he returns.” Dean begins to protest, but that actually does make sense. Before he can respond, Cas has vanished. Dean grabs his phone and tries Sam’s number again.

Exactly eleven minutes pass before Dean starts going stir-crazy. He weighs his options: go drive around and hope he finds one of them or stay here and hope one or both of them show up. Both options suck. His temples are beginning to pulse, of course they are, because what he really needs right now is a headache.

 _Screw it_ , he thinks. He goes outside and finds Ibuprofen in the glove compartment of the Impala. He swallows two of them dry before closing his eyes and leaning back against the car with a heavy sigh. They haven’t even started working the case yet, and already Sam is missing and Cas – Cas won’t even look at him.

A purple glow catches his eye just above the ground amid the trees clustered across the street. _Purple energy field_ , Cas had said. Dean hadn’t seen it on the road as they sped away and figured it was an angel-vision only thing, but there’s no way this is a coincidence. Squinting into the semi-darkness, Dean catches a distant glimpse of – fuck his life – Gina from the diner.

After checking for passing cars, he quickly crosses the highway and jumps the narrow ditch. He draws his gun and moves quickly from tree to tree. He comes to a small clearing and ducks behind an evergreen for cover.

An unfamiliar woman (as tall as the others – is it something in the water?) is shoving a stretcher into a black van. The purple glow emanates from inside the van, but Dean can’t see what’s causing it. A blanket is pulled most of the way over the unconscious person on the stretcher. He can’t see the face, but he’d know that hair anywhere. The woman in the red dress from the restaurant is standing off to the side, the barest glint of a smile crossing her face.

“Don’t move!” he hollers, walking close enough to get them in range, but not to put himself in danger. He aims his gun at the woman holding the stretcher.

The woman that smiled at Sam in the parking lot as they were leaving the diner appears from the other side of the van and says calmly, “It’s the brother.”

Stretcher girl laughs. “You can’t shoot me. I’m the only one who can pull him out of the trance.” She points her head toward the stretcher, then focuses on the gun. “Drop it.”

“Trance? What are you, a damn hypnotist?”

“Not at all. I’ve no need for such primitive – methods. Drop your gun, I won’t say it again.”

A trance. Unbelievable. There’s no way he can get a clean shot on any of them without risking hitting Sam; they’re all too close to him.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

In the interest of not abandoning Sam to the abyss of eternal unconsciousness, he bends down and tosses the gun on the ground.

“What the hell do you want from him?” Dean demands.

Parking Lot girl from earlier retrieves the gun, then helps Stretcher finish loading an unconscious Sam into the back before locking the doors. Time to improvise. Without moving his head, Dean looks for something he can use as a weapon: rock, stick, fucking _pine cone_ , anything.

“Kill him,” she says to Red Dress.

“No,” she says softly. “We’re not murderers. We have what we need, let’s just go.” She points a thumb toward the back of the van. “Besides, we won’t get cooperation out of him if he finds out we killed his brother.”

_Cooperation? What the hell does that mean?_

“I wasn’t aware he had a brother until I saw him earlier at the eating establishment. Why is he so – _short_?"

Dean blinks as his mouth falls open.

Parking Lot hums. “Genetic Flaw, as usual.

Dean sees his chance as Stretcher and Red Dress walk around the van to get in the side door. He runs up behind Stretcher and grabs her from behind, wrapping one arm around her neck to choke her and one arm around her waist to keep her from moving. But she is as solid as a marble statue. An elbow lands a blow to his chest, and he doubles over. He tries to ram her to knock her off balance, but Parking Lot comes from behind and knocks him over the head with his own gun. Suddenly the world is vibrating and there are four of everything.

Groggily, he stands up, hands flying out to his sides to help him balance.

“We gotta go!” one of the women yells, and he hears two, no, three? doors slam shut as the vehicle starts up and bounces off into the clearing, spitting mud from the tires. Through blurred eyes Dean sees it disappear into trees and brush. A crunching noise catches his attention a moment or two later, and he looks around to see where the sound came from. Seeing nothing and trying to clear his head, he reaches into his jacket pocket for his phone. Shaking his head (ooh, that was a mistake), he turns to the trees on his right. He could swear he heard whispers.

From the tree emerges yet another giant woman. (Maybe they’ve entered the Twilight Zone?) She glides toward him silently, her dress unnaturally blue under the light of the full moon.

“What did you see?” she demands.

Dean tries to clear his head enough to make his mouth form words.

“See?” he asks. Hey, he got _one_ word out, anyway.

“What. Did. You. See?” she repeats evenly.

Dean squints to assure himself that there is only one woman in front of him. “Look, lady, I just need to find my brother.” He rubs a hand across his face, cringing in pain. He’s still pretty shaky on the standing up thing, but he guesses it might be dangerous to sit down right now.

“We can’t afford to risk it,” says a new voice, male, and belonging to a very tall shadow. “We can’t let anyone know about us.”

Blue Dress seems nervous suddenly. Dean thinks, if they don’t want anyone to know about them, why are they going into crowded restaurants? Something’s off.

Dean remembers his weapon is gone. The shadow (who might possibly be a ghost, he should lay a circle of salt), says, “You know what has to be done.”

As Dean tries to figure out what he means (his mind seems to be wandering more than it should be, but his words are definitely ominous), he sees the blurry outline of hands shape a ball of pink and purple light. Probably a bad sign, he thinks distantly. He hears “ _Communico Inexplicitus In Perpetuum_!” before he falls to the ground, unconscious.

 


	2. Pickles float when the Socks eat frogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is rescued, but he's a lot different.

Cas waves an awkward thanks to the couple from the diner who gave him a ride back to the motel. As they drive away, he fumbles in his pocket for the key card and wonders what to do next. He’d checked around the motel first, trying to figure out which direction Sam had gone. After finding no trace of him, he’d decided to return to the diner in case Sam had taken a taxi there to grab a beer.  The server who’d waited on them earlier reported that she hadn’t seen him since they’d ‘ran out of there like their asses were on fire’. (“Is everything okay?” she’d asked. “Please call me at this number if you see him,” he’d answered.)

If he still had the full power of his Grace, he could search the entire state instantly. He could find Sam, and if he were in trouble, he could save him. Instead, his abilities, although increasing in strength a little every day, are currently extremely limited. Frustration, he believes, is the word for the emotion he feels right now.

Moonlight and a blue neon sign (announcing ‘vacancy’ at the Aspen Grove Inn) spill light onto the concrete lot. The only other building in the area is an eerily silent thrift shop with a ‘closed’ sign hanging crookedly on the door. Two or three doors down from their room, a TV is blaring loud enough that, even without angelic hearing, Cas can make out every word spoken (as well as moans, giggling, whips cracking, and truly horrible music that reminds him of Gabriel).

He hesitates in front of the door to their room. Dean’s words rip through his mind, again and again. Of all the reactions he’d imagined from Dean to the idea of a sexual or romantic relationship with him, _creepy_ and _not human_ had never been among them. He’s not entirely sure he can even face Dean right now.

Cas closes his eyes. Might as well get this over with as quickly as possible. _Focus,_ he tells himself. Using his keycard, he lets himself in.

“Dean? I’m sorry. I didn’t find him,” he announces - to an empty room. Of course Dean wouldn’t stay here while Sam was missing. He wouldn’t care that he could be in danger too. Cas checks to see if he left a note – Dean told him they needed to start telling each other when they were leaving instead of just skipping out – but doesn’t find one.

The Impala is still in the parking lot outside. Dean can’t be too far away, he reasons. Dean doesn’t take long meandering walks like Sam does. He remembers the phone in his pocket and immediately tries Dean’s number. The call goes straight to voicemail, and he hangs up. He tries Sam again but gets no answer there either.

 _I am not attracted to Cas!_ he hears Dean say.

Focus.

When he returned to the diner, he’d asked several customers who were still there from earlier if the women who’d hit on Sam were local. When he described them, every response was the same: blank stares and “we haven’t seen anyone like that around here.” _No one_ knew who he was talking about. (One guy even told him there ‘weren’t nar such thing as giant women. Yer drunk, my friend.’).

So these women are almost certainly here for Sam. But why? If they can make themselves selectively invisible, (or affect the specific memories of everyone in the diner), they are either very powerful witches, or they’re not human.

_He’s not even human! That’s just creepy!_

 _Stop._ Focus.

He looks around the empty hotel room, forcing himself to think. Even though the two women barely acknowledged Cas or Dean, they may still consider the two of them to be some sort of threat to Sam. He doubts Sam is in immediate danger; they seem to revere him. Of course, some entities sacrifice the people they revere to their gods, so maybe his safety isn’t assured after all.

With a heavy sigh (a weird, pointless human trait he seems to have acquired from Sam and Dean) he opens the door. As he leaves the room, he’s automatically struck by icy fingers of wind that seem to have come out of nowhere. The temperature is falling rapidly. If either brother is stuck outside somewhere without shelter, they could be in danger of hypothermia or frostbite – this part of the country gets very cold at night. He looks up and down the highway, but it’s completely empty. His eyes fall on the forest across the street.

Perhaps Dean went over there? Maybe he’d seen Sam and went after him? The only other option was that he’d gone with someone in a vehicle for some reason, and that didn’t feel right. What he does feel is a ghost of the ancient presence he’d sensed at the diner. Squinting into the forest, he sees a tiny lavender mist that disappears before his eyes.

Castiel hurries to the edge of the forest and is struck by the absence of bird, insect and animal sounds. He puts his hand to the ground to feel the communications between the trees, but they don’t seem to sense any danger either. Nothing else seems out of order. On the forest floor, he sees pine needles and twigs have sunk minutely into the dirt in the shape of boot soles. He hurries along the mini trail of boot prints and finds a clearing.

It’s a dead end, as silent and still as a graveyard.

Castiel notices more of the soft purple light fading away on his right. Before he can investigate (it’s obviously from the same energy source as the light behind the diner), a soft moan breaks through the eerie quietness of the forest. A few yards away from him, a semiconscious Dean lays in a pile of dirt and pine needles. He grabs his head with a wince and tries to sit up. He looks around, as if unsure of where he is. Cas is kneeling at his side in seconds, trying to hide his relief. Dean, wobbling like a bobble head doll, squints at him in confusion. He opens his mouth, but Cas immediately puts a finger over his lips and shushes him. “I’ll get you back to the motel,” he says, effortlessly scooping Dean into his arms before he can protest. Dean’s head lolls against his chest and he goes boneless in Cas’s arms.

Cas forgets about the purple light.

Back at the motel, Cas settles Dean gently onto the bed. Sitting next to him, he carefully runs his hands over Dean’s body and checks for injuries as well as he can while Dean’s fully clothed. Other than a scrape on his forehead and a few cuts on his hands, he seems to be okay. As far as he can tell there are no broken ribs, and the bones in his arms, legs and fingers feel intact. He won’t be able to tell much more until Dean’s awake. It’s worrisome that he was knocked unconscious; a mild concussion can probably be assumed. Cas puts both hands on Dean’s head and gently explores his scalp. He finds a large lump – not a skull fracture but definitely a nasty bruise. He settles in next to him, close but not touching, watching over him as Dean never allows him to do. Dean is safe; at least he can relax a little.

Sitting this close to Dean, listening to him breathe, should be comforting, but instead he feels a deep ache in his chest. Realistically, he never truly expected Dean to have the same kind of feelings for him as he has for Dean; he knows Dean is only attracted sexually to girls. But Dean’s harsh and angry reaction to Sam’s words brutally dashed the last bit of hope Cas held on to that Dean could maybe, somehow fall in love with him. Hurt and confused, he thinks about the way Dean looks at him sometimes, the longing he’s felt from him, and how protective Dean’s been over him lately (even though Cas is slowly recovering his Grace). Feelings are confusing, and painful, and make no sense. Understanding humans will always be beyond him, even after living as one.

After a short while, Dean’s eyes flutter open and land on Cas. A combination of relief and guilt washes over his face, and he tries to speak, but nothing comes out of his mouth.

“Here, take this,” Castiel says softly. He twists the lid off a bottle of water and hands it to him. Dean drinks almost half of it and gingerly sits up and leans back against the headboard. Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he says in a scratchy voice, “Selling amputated toes to minors is illegal and punishable by The Great Joey, who sometimes swallows doors.”

Maybe Dean has a _severe_ head injury, Cas thinks nervously. He needs to try and feel his skull again, maybe there’s a crack in the bone that he missed. There could be swelling of the brain, as well.

Dean’s look of confusion deepens when he looks at Cas and says, “When the decaying particles of a loaf of air erupt, a raw box becomes impossible to console!”

“Dean, let me -”

“IF YOU WISH TO PUKE IN MY DOG’S FUR, YOU MUST TELL ME IN ADVANCE SO I CAN EVACUATE THE LICE!” Dean shouts, looking frantically around the room. His entire body is tense enough to shatter if he moves suddenly, and his eyes fill with a deep horror he can’t hide. He reaches out and grabs Cas’s tie in one hand and a fistful of his coat in the other, pulling him closer until they’re face to face.

Cas grabs Dean’s shoulder with one hand and the back of the bed with the other and tries to keep from rolling on top of him. “Try to calm down, Dean. Speak slowly.”

Dean glares at him but doesn’t let go. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, concentrating. “I stole the letter ‘e’ from the Spanish alphabet.”

Bewildered, Cas gently removes Dean’s trembling hands from his clothing. It seems that Dean won’t be able to answer questions, so finding out what happened to him is going to be a challenge. Without losing eye contact, Cas reaches both hands to Dean’s head, feeling for lumps or lacerations that he may have missed the first time. Cas knows the part of the human brain which forms logical sentences is in the frontal lobe, not at all near Dean’s (presumably) mild head injury. It’s unlikely to be the cause of the … whatever this is.

 If it’s not a physical cause . . . Cas knows of a couple of obscure curses that can cause confusion, but he can’t actually recall one that disrupts its victims’ speech in such an - unsettling way. He only hopes Dean’s thoughts are more coherent than his speech. Ignoring the increase in his heart rate and the mysterious urge to hold his breath, Cas carefully studies Dean’s face.

“Dean, if you can understand me, blink your eyes twice.”

Dean stares at him a moment before quickly blinking twice. Cas lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Dean falls back against the headboard and lets his eyes fall closed. Okay. He can work with this. He’ll have to phrase his questions so that Dean can answer yes or no, which limits what he can find out, but it’s better than nothing.

“Were you physically attacked? Blink once for yes, two for no.”

Dean deliberately blinks once, sitting up and drinking from the bottle of water without losing eye contact with Cas.

“Are there injuries aside from your head that I may have missed?”

Two blinks, good.

“Did you see Sam in the trees across the street?

One blink. No surprise there.

“Is he still in the forest?”

No. Of course not, that would be too easy. Now for the really important part.

“Was he alone?”

Two blinks. Cas doesn’t need to ask if the women from the diner were there. He assumes they are the source of the purple light. They are likely the source of the ancient feeling he’s been sensing also. So what the hell are they?

He can see by the look on Dean’s face that he needs to wrap this up. Dean’s hands are turning white from their grip on the bedcovers and his teeth are clenched so tightly Cas is afraid he may break them.

“Did you hear any incantations, spells, or other unusual sounds?”

Cas sees the muscles in his neck become even more rigid. Dean excitedly says, “I must roam the evacuation chambers indefinitely until the River of Love divides.” Dean’s eyes cross as he looks down his nose in horror at the betrayal from his own mouth.

“Focus, Dean,” he says, laying a hand on his shoulder which Dean shrugs off in annoyance. He looks at Cas and deliberately blinks once.

Yes. So the cause is almost certainly a spell. Now he’s getting somewhere.

Cas continues asking Dean yes or no questions for a few more minutes, then pieces together the sparse bits of information. Dean may have found out some information regarding Sam’s disappearance. The women (one blink, Cas confirms they were definitely involved for some reason) must have laid the curse on Dean, perhaps so he couldn’t tell anyone what they were up to? Why he was left in the woods in the first place is still a mystery but seems irrelevant for the time being. His immediate concern is - fixing – Dean.  

And finding Sam.

There are so many unknowns, and he’s got no idea how to find answers. Reversing a spell is tedious at best without the full use of his Grace. He doesn’t know which spell the women even used; it could have been one of their own devising, which makes the situation so much worse. Without knowing for sure who cast it, or why, undoing it will be virtually impossible.

Dean looks at him expectantly. _He’s waiting for me to fix this, and I have no idea what to do._ He takes a deep breath. He has to tell Dean _something_.

“Dean, I’m not sure what has happened to you,” he begins. Dean’s eyes grow wide and panicked.  Cas continues hastily, “I mean, it has to have been a spell.” (Dean rolls his eyes, and Cas can almost hear his sarcastic voice say, _you think?_ ) “I think – when we find whoever took Sam, and what they want, we will be able to find a way to undo this.”

Dean clenches his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut. Both hands are still fisted in the bedspread. “People who fall off the ceiling should have more sense than to try and stick up there!”

Growling, he leaps to his feet and hurls the water bottle across the room. It bounces off a picture on the wall, splashing the remaining water onto the wall and floor.

Castiel grabs Dean by the shoulder, and he spins around, aiming a punch at Cas. Cas braces himself; even with the small amount of Grace he currently has, he could easily hurt Dean, and he won’t risk it by fighting back.

Dean seems to realize that Cas is willing to be his punching bag. His body goes limp and he turns away. Cas reaches for him automatically, but pulls back before he actually touches him. Dean shrugged him off before, he probably thinks being touched by Cas is … creepy, how had he forgotten that? God, is that how Dean’s felt about him all this time? Flinching, he drops into the chair Sam sat in earlier. He feels like his world is unraveling.

He’s not sure what he can say to Dean that will help, or if he should even say anything. 

 


	3. Cotton Candy Hell

Sam wakes up with a searing hangover that he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. He only had a few beers, it makes no sense that vital brain cells are exploding like zillions of sticks of dynamite igniting painfully in his head.

Slowly, he coaxes his eyes open and notices the very – plush – room he’s woken up in. Silky material – _hot pink_ \- covers the walls. He’s laying on a king-sized waterbed, giving him an uncomfortable flashback to waking up in Becky’s bed under the influence of a love potion. (At least he’s not tied to the bed this time.) He tentatively lifts up the (pink) bedcover and sheets and is relieved to discover he’s still wearing his own pants. His shoes, socks and shirts are missing, however.

Slowly he pushes himself upright as he fights the stab of pain behind his eyes. Getting hit by a spell or potion would actually be a logical explanation for his headache and his lack of memory regarding how he arrived here.

Now, the question is, where is _here_?

The room he’s in is unusual, to say the least. Whoever decorated it had a serious obsession with all things pink. A mahogany table sits low to the ground across from the bed and is the only other piece of furniture in the room. Its surface is covered completely with dozens of pearly pink candles. Even the _flames_ are pink, how is that possible? It’s like he’s woken up in cotton candy hell. God, if only his head would stop hurting so he could _think._

At least one question is answered when a towering woman walks into the room. He doesn’t recognize her from before, but she certainly seems happy to see _him_. She smiles brightly as she moves toward the bed and sits uncomfortably close. Seriously, these people have less of a grasp of the concept of personal space than Cas, which he couldn’t believe was even possible.

“Welcome,” she says, her voice low and seductive. She trails her fingers slowly over the bedcover. “I must apologize for the manner in which we brought you here. Sheena was afraid you’d forgotten your true nature, and your companions – well. They aren’t part of this. Pity about your brother, though. Fucking him would’ve been…mmm. Delicious.” She pauses, closes her eyes and licks her lips, and Sam tries desperately to get the instant mental picture of her and Dean doing _that_ – just _no_ \- out of his head. “He would’ve been an amazing specimen, if not for his genetic defect.” She sighs and returns her attention to Sam. “Truth be told, you’re pretty small for Hiari yourself. But you know what we say!”

Sam doesn’t know, and he doesn’t _want_ to know. And he doesn’t think he’s ever been called _small_ before.

“Now, is there anything you require before we get started?” she asks.

“Started?” he sputters. This can’t be good. It isn’t difficult to figure out what the function of this room is, considering the candles, low lighting and the bed. Not to mention that half of his clothes are missing – and who the hell undressed him anyway?

“Don’t be coy,” she whispers. “Stop playing hard to get and let’s get on with it. There are many of us, and so little time.”

 _Many of us?_ Holy _crap._ And Dean – a specimen? Genetic defect? That doesn’t even make sense – Cas remade Dean’s body atom by atom after rescuing his soul from hell. Had there been a _genetic_ defect of some sort, Cas would have fixed it.

“Okay, well-” he clears his throat, thinking frantically. “An aspirin would be nice.”

“Since when does Hiari need an aspirin?” She looks at him oddly.

He glares at her. “Since you drugged me? Or hexed me, maybe? Look, I’m not doing anything until you tell me what the hell happened to me.” (preferably before he goes colorblind from overexposure to pink. Christ, even the ceiling is hot pink, how’d he miss that?). “Tell me how I got here.”

“Yes, yes, that,” she says impatiently, waving her hand. “The potion was a little stronger than we intended to make it. We haven’t had to use it in a while. Hiari doesn’t normally _reject_ his duty.”

 _God,_ Sam thinks. _It’s like she’s stuck in a loop._

“Okay. Could you just - forget the Hiari thing for a minute? Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the woman who’ll light fire in your dreams, baby,” she says, with a not- at- all- subtle shift in attitude. Or possibly personality. She slides her legs onto the bed, tosses her hair back and pats Sam’s leg through the bedcover. She licks her lips, which are coated in hot pink lipstick (what the _actual fuck_ is with the color pink around here?). They should have taken Dean, Sam thinks. He probably fantasizes about things like this.

Sam, however, is not his brother. He slides out from beneath the bed covers and hops off the bed. “Look, you can’t just go around kidnapping people and hope they’ll have sex with you!”

The woman recoils as if she’s been slapped. Tilting her head, she stares at him and quickly gets up from the bed. Confusion crosses her face. “We did not kidnap you, we rescued you,” she says in a completely baffled voice. Then, “You’re upset.” Fear replaces the confused look.

Sam begins to wonder if this is some kind of bizarre prostitution ring. But what do they think they rescued him from? Or whom?

Oh _God_.  

“Where’s Dean?” he demands. “What have you done with him and Cas?”

She draws her eyebrows together. “Your companions are fine, of course. We have no reason to detain them, now that you are here with us. They will come to us when they’re needed, of this we have no doubt.”

“Needed for _what?_ ”

“You are Hiara,” she says, panic creeping into her voice. “I am for you.” She takes a step toward him and reaches up to gently run her hand through his hair.

Sam takes hold of her wrist and pushes it away. “Lady. Listen to me. I am not this – _Hiara_. How many times do I have to explain this? Why won’t you believe me?”

Suddenly the door opens and yet another woman walks in. She is wearing stilettos – _stilettos_ \- and Sam estimates she tops seven and a half feet tall _without_ them. Her black negligee is mostly lace and some sheer material that leaves nothing whatsoever to the imagination. She has long black fingernails, flawless brown skin, pouty red lips, and long black braids that stop just above her waist.     

“Hello, darling.” She walks slowly over to Sam, her fingertips ghosting up across her breasts. “If Alia can’t seduce you, let me assure you, I can.”

God, this is a nightmare and a Greek tragedy all rolled into one. “Girls - look, I don’t know what’s going on here. But there has been a serious misunderstanding -”

“What are you doing here, Sissily? _I_ was chosen to go first.” The first woman – Alia, names are good – puts her hands on her hips in an almost comedic pout.

Sissily scoffs. “Time’s wasting. You had your chance.” She looks back at Sam, and a slow smile spreads across her face. She looks at him the way a piranha looks at a leg dangling from a boat. “He obviously wants nothing to do with you. He’s looking for experience.”

“Listen, you slimy bitch, go crawl back into the cave you slithered out of!” Alia hisses. She narrows her eyes and leaps at the almost preposterously shocked Sissily, grabs two handfuls of braids, and yanks her to the ground. Sissily, caught off guard, reaches her hands above her and grabs Alia’s arms. Sam gapes helplessly at the two as Sissily manages to get Alia in a headlock and flips her to the ground. How the hell do they fight in lingerie and heels? How can Sissily even concentrate with that string between her -

“Fuck you, bitch!” says one of them in between the grunting and screaming. Sam’s not even sure who said it. He considers stepping in to break it up, but instead he eyes the area where Sissily entered the room. Maybe while they’re distracted he can escape.

He tiptoes around the wrestling women. As silently as he can (which is pretty damn silent, since he doesn’t have shoes on and the floor is covered by thick plush carpet (pink, of course – seriously, was there a _sale_?)), he pads over to the general area where the girls entered the room.

He can’t find the door.

Scanning the wall, he sees no division at all. Frantically, he runs his fingers against the surface, searching for some sort of opening mechanism, or hinges. There must be hinges. He checks the entire wall.  No light seeps through anywhere that would indicate an opening to another room or hallway. Looking over the rest of the room, he sees no other exit. Even finding the _corners_ of the room to get a sense of direction is nearly impossible. He’s not getting out of here without help.

Sam turns around and looks at the two women currently tangled up on the floor fighting viciously – over him, apparently, and realizes his situation will not improve if he allows this to continue.

“Hey!” he says sharply. They freeze (Sissily’s arm pulled back in mid-punch and Alia trying to shove her away with both hands on her shoulders) and look at Sam like two deer caught in headlights.

 _Now what do I do_ , Sam wonders.

“Ladies, look, uh -” He clears his throat. He decides to play along, at least a little. Being dishonest about – whatever the hell this is – feels wrong. But they refuse to believe he’s not this Hiara person. There’s also the case to think about; he needs to find out if these people have something to do with those girls’ deaths. Time’s wasting; he doesn’t know how long they have before someone else becomes a victim.

“Your fighting displeases me,” he says, wincing at how pretentious he sounds. They don’t seem to notice. Instead, they both look at the ground, glancing sheepishly at each other, and at the same time, say,

“Sorry, Sam.”

“Sorry, Hiari.”

Well, this is going great. He sighs.

Suddenly he thinks of a way to get out of the room.

“I forgive you,” he says solemnly, nodding. “And now, I need to shower. And eat.” As obedient as they seem (he forces himself not to cringe at the thought), they will surely let him go take a shower. Once he’s out of this room, he can find a way to escape. If they catch him leaving, he can tell them - he’s going to a grocery store for - some specific food. Dried seaweed, maybe; they’re unlikely to have that around unless they’re Asian-food enthusiasts.

Jesus, he’s grasping at straws.

“Of course, Hiara, forgive us our poor hospitality!” Alia looks at Sissily tentatively. “I will prepare the bath, Sissily can perhaps gather the lotions?”

“Yes, of course. I will speak with Lyra and have her prepare a meal while we bathe him.”

Wait, _what_?

Sissily, in her newly discovered spirit of cooperation, adds, “and we shall share in the pleasure of feeding him. That way, we have no need to fight over who gets the honor.”

_Feeding me? What the –_

“I agree,” says Alia, wiping blood from her mouth with the back of her hand. Neither of them notice Sam gaping at them in horror _._ His plan has backfired so spectacularly that his mind goes blank.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Dean wakes up blurry-eyed, feeling just as tired as he did before he fell asleep. The memories of last night slam into him: Sam has vanished – Dean’s worst nightmare. How could he have let this happen? _Again?_ His father’s voice rings in his ears: _you’re worthless, you couldn’t even handle one responsibility! If anything’s happened to Sammy, that’s on you!_

As if he didn’t already know. As if he didn’t feel guilty enough for _falling asleep_ while Sam was in danger.

 _Son of a bitch,_ he tries to mumble. What comes out of his mouth is, “My finger grew an inch and disrupted my use of soap.”  

Gritting his teeth and blinking the last of the sleep away, he goes into the bathroom and stares at his reflection in the mirror. Tired eyes stare back at him. How the fuck is he gonna find Sammy when every time he opens his mouth he sounds like he’s reading a psychedelic acid trip version of _Green Eggs and Ham_?

He rakes his hands through his short brown hair. None of this makes any sense. What do a bunch of unusually tall women who have magical abilities want with Sam? Why put him in a trance and kidnap him? He’s certain he’s never heard of or read about them in any lore. And, why lay _this_ kind of curse on him? Why not just, like, make him mute? Or make him forget that he saw them?

This spell had to be complex as hell. His brain _thinks_ the words. He feels his mouth _forming_ the words. But as he speaks… nonsense comes out of his mouth.

His reflection offers no answers.

He takes care of morning bathroom business and grabs a clean shirt out of his duffel bag. He’ll have to rely on Cas to do the talking for both of them. Which is a bit like trying to fly a kite in a hurricane. Fuck, they’re _never_ gonna find Sam. Not to mention figure out if _El Sombrerón_ is actually their killer – and how to stop him if he is.

And speaking of Cas, where the hell _is_ he? Why would Cas leave him at a time like this? Oh. Right. He’s probably still pissed about what Dean said when they got back to the motel from the diner. He really can’t blame him; he acted like a complete dick. Cas probably thinks he’s a homophobic asshole. All he’d wanted to do was let Cas off the hook, but as usual, his intentions were misunderstood. It doesn’t help that every time he’s around Cas lately – he feels like a teenager with their first crush.

Their first – _crush_.

_Crush._

Dean’s thought about Cas as more than a friend once or twice. They’re close. They’ve been through a lot of weird shit together. Cas has done things for him that no one else could even imagine. No one knows him the way Cas does. And besides, who wouldn’t think Cas is hot? He has fucking _superpowers -_ and that obscene fucking hair. But mostly – Dean feels safe when he’s around. He feels like he matters. He’s able to relax in a way he can’t around Sam, because he doesn’t feel _responsible_ for Cas.

Maybe crush isn’t a strong enough word.

Dean realizes his heart is pounding hard enough to register as a seismic event on the Richter scale. Jesus fucking Christ he needs to calm down. Cas will forgive him for his outburst last night, and everything will go back to normal (which is disappointing, actually, but it’s better than the current situation). All he needs to do is tell him – Oh God. He can’t even talk to him and try to make things right, because who the fuck knows what will come out of his mouth next?

Dean sits down on the bed and pulls on his boots. This should have been a routine case. Find the bad guys, take care of them, rescue the victims and move on. Sometimes he wonders if it’s time to get out of the game. But then he hears the echo of John’s voice reprimanding him.

_Who’s gonna do the job if we don’t, Dean? How many people will die because you got out of the game? You don’t get a normal life, son. That’s not how your story ends._

Dean closes his eyes. Enough screwing around, he has shit to get done. No more feeling sorry for himself over this. Hell, Bobby has a buddy that lost three fingers off his right hand to a fairy a couple years back. And he’s still out there fightin’ the good fight.

He digs the phone out of his jacket. Although he can’t talk, he can still call Cas and find out where the hell he is and what the hell he’s doing. For the sake of sanity. A tiny voice in the back of his mind wonders if Cas will even answer.

Christ, he’s being _ridiculous_.

Cas picks up on the fourth ring. “Dean?”

Dean doesn’t reply.

“I’m in town. I’ve been working on the case,” he says uncertainly. “I - didn’t want to wake you.” 

 _I thought we’d agreed not to skip out on each other anymore,_ Dean thinks angrily, although he knows it’s kind of irrational to be mad at Cas for doing what they came here to do _._ He reacts anyway.

“When the stars crawl off the American flag and slide down the flagpole, it’s wise to inform the stripes!”

“I see your condition remains unchanged,” Cas says, and the fucker sounds _amused._ He and Sam have been trying to cultivate his sense of humor, and this is what he gets for their efforts. Now is not the time.

“It’s bite-sized, said the chunk!” he says in the most offended voice he can manage. Christ, Sam would be having a field day with this. He ignores the pang of fear at the thought of Sam and tries to stop imagining all the horrific things Sam might be dealing with right now. If he’s even still alive.

“Stop talking, Dean,” Cas says seriously. “I’ll be there -” There’s a pause, like Cas is trying to remember where “there” is. “I’ll be there in – twenty-one minutes and forty seconds.”

Dean rolls his eyes and ends the call.

Cas walks in the door twenty-one minutes and forty seconds later. Dean nonchalantly pretends he wasn’t watching for Cas through the window. Cas doesn’t say anything at first, just sort of frowns at Dean like he’s studying a new species.  

“You seem to be upset,” Cas says, blue eyes dark and concerned.

 _Really? What could he possibly have to be upset about?_ He doesn’t want to be pissed at Cas. But Jesus, he shouldn’t have left him here alone. He can’t even go order himself breakfast.

 _Nut up,_ Dean tells himself. _You’re not a clingy three-year old going to a sleepover. You’re a fucking adult._

Cas sighs and sets his keycard on the table.

“I think I may have made some progress on the case.”

 _Glad you have your priorities straight_ , Dean thinks bitterly, and what the hell is _wrong_ with him? Ever since he was hit with the spell, he’s been feeling - off. But it’s more than that. He’s afraid, and he hates himself for it. He immediately hears John’s voice in his head: _Quit feeling sorry for yourself. You’ve got a job to do, so_ do it _._

Someone needs to investigate, and Cas stepped up without a thought. He should be grateful Cas is taking the lead here. People are dying, and Dean needs his help to do the job and find his brother. He’ll never find Sam without Cas.

Cas studies Dean a moment, then continues. “The newspaper article Sam read to us reported the girls were all seen in the same park before their deaths. A man wearing black clothing with a black hat has definitely been sighted; there are posters hung on public buildings all over town with his description. This correlates perfectly with the information given to us by the man at the diner.”

_Get to the point, Cas. Tell me something I don’t know!_

“Please empty the contents of your nose and place them on this metal tray!”

Cas tilts his head, and a corner of his mouth twitches. He opens his mouth to say something, then apparently thinks better of it. Dean does not, _does not_ have tears of frustration in his eyes.

Cas regains his Cas-like composure and continues seriously, “I believe I know where Sam was taken from.”

Dean wants to groan but is afraid of what sound will actually come out of him. _I know where Sam was taken from, Cas, come on! Tell me something useful!_

“When Sam left last night to take his walk, I believe he went to that park across the street from this motel. The trees across the street are adjacent to it; he may have found a walking trail and followed it into the woods. That area is the edge of what the locals call the Forbidden Forest. That’s the place where they’ve sighted the monster, presumably _El Sombrerón_.”

 _But Sam doesn’t fit the profile of a 20-year-old woman!_ Dean wants to scream. _Even with his hair. And he wasn’t taken by El-Whatever, he was taken by giant – alien -  man-eating - women!_ Of course, Cas doesn’t know this, and he has no way to tell him.

Dean closes his eyes. Somehow, he has to let Cas know about the women in the woods taking Sam. Concentrating, knowing there’s almost no chance it’ll work, he focuses on his words. Just talk, he thinks, it’s not that fucking hard. You gotta do this for Sam. With a determined expression, he takes a deep breath and says, “My fellow microwave users: last night at 2/3 o’clock, the planet Narkel floated through high security notebook holes and drank the Pacific Ocean out of a glass.”

Dean freezes. Once the nonsensical bullshit starts flowing from his mouth, he can’t stop it, even though he hears that the words are wrong. He hasn’t felt this cut off from the rest of the world, this utterly trapped in his own head, since he went to Hell.

“I can’t even sense your thoughts, there’s just static” Cas murmurs.

Dean’s eyes widen. He sometimes forgets Cas still has powers even with diminished Grace. Does Cas sense his thoughts _often_? “Beware of speaking toilets who spill their contents onto anyone who doesn’t already smell!” he says indignantly.

Cas tilts his head. Normally Dean finds that weird little mannerism of his adorable. Right now it just pisses him off even more.

“That upsets you? That I have the ability to sense your thoughts?”

Dean glares at him with wide eyes. _Oh my god, you think?_ A new horror settles in. What if – what if Cas has sensed his thoughts before? What if he knows about the time (or two) Dean was in the shower and Busty Asian Beauties didn’t do it for him, so he’d imagined Cas’s hand on him?  That would be – _humiliating._ At the very least.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says softly, his shoulders slumping as a defeated look crosses his face. “I thought you’d want me to try to – I thought maybe I could read you enough – I thought you would trust me to try and reach you telepathically. I shouldn’t have assumed. But it doesn’t matter, I don’t have enough Grace to help you anyway.” He blinks and looks away.

The anger drains away. _God_ , Dean thinks, _I’ve somehow managed to fuck up again and I can’t even_ talk _._

Cas’s gaze rests on the table next to Sam’s laptop.

“Dean. What about this?” He hands Dean the notepad and undersized pencil from the table. His face is carefully neutral. “Maybe the curse only affects your voice. Try writing something.”

 _Why didn’t I think of that?_ Dean wonders. _Please, just let this one thing work. Please._

He leans back against the wall. The first thing he’s going to write is _Cas, I’m sorry, I do trust you. I trust you as much as I trust Sam. Maybe more. And I didn’t mean to overreact last night. I’m not – embarrassed that people might have thought I was_ with you _or whatever.”_ His heart jumps a little. _With you._

Securing the notepad in his left hand, he takes a deep breath, and with a spark of hope, he writes, “Every now and then, metal bedbugs and deeply intellectual socks debate the evolution of toes.”

Cas quickly hides his disappointment as the pencil and paper fall from Dean’s limp hands. He slowly slides to the floor, not caring that his shirt wads up against his back uncomfortably. He pounds his head into the wall and stares at nothing.

Cas awkwardly sits on the floor next to him. He stares at Dean in that unnerving way of his, and Dean stares back, trying to will his thoughts into Cas’s brain. But apparently the spell also blocked him from Cas’s telepathy or whatever. If this fucking curse can overpower an angel’s abilities-God, there can’t be much hope for him.

Dean blinks and looks away from the clear blue eyes that are studying him. What if he’s never able to communicate again? He can answer yes or no questions by blinking, but that’s barely useful. What if he can’t ever tell Cas he’s sorry, he fucked up? Or let him know the reason he reacted so harshly to Sam’s words was that they hit a little too close to home?

What if Cas gets tired of one-sided conversations and decides Dean’s too much of a burden to deal with? What if he leaves?  

A low, gravelly voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Dean?”

Dean closes his eyes and sighs.

“Dean, whatever you’re thinking…stop,” he says softly.

He suddenly needs the comfort of leaning against Cas’s solid body, feeling his warmth. He wonders what Cas would do if he slid closer to him. Maybe Cas would put his arm around him, and he could bury his face in Cas’s neck, and Cas would run his fingers through Dean’s hair like his mom did when he was very small and had a nightmare…

But none of those things happen. Cas looks at him sympathetically, but his hands are folded carefully in his lap, and he makes no indication that he wants Dean closer.

And Christ, why would he?

Cas clears his throat. “I thought it might be helpful to talk to the victims’ families. Unfortunately, only one is available. The Ramirez family is spending time with relatives. The Thompson family has moved to an obscure town in Maine, which is several days’ drive away. But the sister, the identical twin of the latest victim, was also her roommate, and still lives in their apartment. It’s only a few blocks away from here.”

Okay, he’s impressed. Cas _did_ find out something useful. He tries to nod his approval, but his neck freezes up and _he can’t even fucking nod._

Shaking in frustration, Dean stares deliberately at Cas with wide green eyes and blinks once for yes.


	5. Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and the fading pink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short but hopefully clears up a few things . . .  
> I made a small change in chapter 3 to fix continuity regarding Cas and Dean’s role in the women’s scheme; prior wording implied they were not involved and would interfere, when in fact the ladies expect them to have a purpose. (July 10, 2018)  
> Possible TW: Sam is forced to drink something against his will.

The bath, it turns out, is in a small room behind one of the pink wall panels. Sam doesn’t see how they open the entryway; part of the wall just disappears. (He’s beginning to suspect they’re using telekinesis. Or magic.) The two failed seductresses (who are covered in freshly forming bruises and trickles of blood from their melee) are joined by an additional woman who calls herself Lyra. Lyra is dressed in a silky, pearl colored cloak that swirls around her body. She carries a silver tray full of fruit, cheese cubes, biscuits, and a pile of unidentifiable plants that Sam thinks might be trying to slither away.

He doesn’t protest as they guide him into the small room. A giant hot tub spreads from wall to wall and is filled with bubbly, swirling water. The ceiling is hazy white, like it’s covered with clouds. Dark pink tile lines the walls, and Sam feels the room closing in on him. Lyra sets the tray on the edge of the tub, which is obviously where they intend to _bathe him_.

He honestly can’t help feeling a bit sorry for these women. Their desperation seems to be blinding them from reality. Their methods are unethical, but he doesn’t sense malice or any sort of corruption or evil from them. He only senses panic. If he can just get them to realize he’s not who they’re looking for - hell, he could probably help them find their guy.

But in the meantime, enough is enough.

Lyra smiles at him and reaches out her hand.

“Stop,” he says sharply. “I’ve told you this again and again. I’m not who you think I am.” He takes a deep breath. “My name is Sam Winchester. I just got into town last night with my brother and my – brother. I’m here to do a job, and I don’t have time for this! If you’ll wait until our case is solved, we’ll try and help you find who you’re looking for.” Seeing their blank looks, he adds softly, “My family will come for me. Let me go right now and I promise we won’t hurt any of you.”

Lyra blinks. “Holy Reverence to the Gods of Light. You were serious,” she murmurs to the others.

“His memory has been completely erased,” Alia tells her, ignoring Sam completely. Sam tugs his hair in frustration.

“Then we must restore it,” Lyra sighs, sounding dejected. She reaches into her robe and pulls out a vial. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. I was hoping you were wrong.”

“My memory has not been erased!” Sam says incredulously. He is not going through the whole love potion fiasco like he did with Becky. Just. No.

“Hold him,” Lyra instructs. Her two companions move faster than anyone human could manage. They grab him by the shoulders and upper arms, their fingers digging deep into his flesh. Sam struggles, but they’re incredibly strong, and with their height advantage, he’s completely outmatched. They manhandle him to the bed, where Sissily leaps onto his chest and pins his arms above his head. He struggles furiously, twisting his body like a cat trying to get out of a little kid’s arms, but it’s no use. Alia holds his nose until he’s forced to open his mouth to breathe. Lyra pops the tiny cork out of the vial and pours pink liquid down his throat. He chokes and gags, trying to spit the liquid back out. Alia covers his mouth, and he can’t help but swallow.

 _How is this happening,_ Sam thinks as the world dissipates in a sea of grey and black.

*****

Lyra sighs as she hands the empty vial to Sissily. She and Alia easily lift Sam’s unconscious body and move him back to the bed in the main dwelling. She gently rests his head on the pillow and looks into his face as if the answers she needs will be written there.

Looking around, she sees the dark pink walls have faded a little. She and the others are rapidly losing their ability to hold the walls together, literally; the small shelter they’ve created is a manifestation of the collective power of their small life force. Without the services of the Hiari, they will eventually die; without creating offspring to expand and continue their species, they will be one step closer to extinction.  

Alia says, “We need to report our lack of progress to Zynelle.”

Sissily snorts. “You think she doesn’t know? Do you think she can’t sense it?”

“She may sense our – feelings of urgency, but no; I doubt she knows specifically what’s wrong. And – I’ve been thinking.” Alia’s eyes are bright with worry.

Lyra groans. “Don’t say it.”

“I have to! What if Sam isn’t _him_? What if we’ve taken a human?”

“We’ll know for sure when we see how the memory serum affects him.”

Gina appears in the room, wearing the same clothes she had on at the diner. Casting a glance at Sam unconscious on the bed, she closes her eyes. “Has it really come to this?”

Alia’s forehead wrinkles as she frowns. “Zynelle described the man in her visions exactly like him." She points to Sam. "He was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt and was with two companions.”

“Yes,” says Gina, “and one of his flannel-wearing friends was meant to help us, but his companions seemed as confused by us as Sam was.”

Alia sits on the edge of the bed and stares at Sam. “If he’s not Hiari, then who is?”

*****

Sam wakes up (again) on the pink bed. He overhears his captors talking, so he doesn’t move – maybe if they don’t know he’s awake, he can find something out that he can use as an advantage over them. He does an internal check: he doesn’t seem to be physically injured, and his mind is clear. Whatever they forced down his throat doesn’t seem to have affected him in any way.

Lyra apparently senses he’s awake, because she turns her entire attention on him suddenly. The other girls stop their discussion and look at him also. Lyra approaches and says, “what do you remember?”

Sam sits up straighter, thankful this potion or spell or whatever didn’t have the same lasting hangover effects as the other one. “I remember being kidnapped and having something forced down my throat. Look – whatever you’re planning to do, it’s not gonna work.”

Lyra pales, a truly exceptional sight on someone as light-skinned as she is.

Sissily whispers, “it’s truly not him. He still knows nothing.”

Gina slumps to the floor. “We’ve – fuck, we’ve kidnapped a human.”

“You _idiots_!” Lyra hisses. “Now a _human_ knows about us.”

Sam gets to his feet slowly, never taking his eyes off the women. “What exactly are you here to do?”

“We’re trying to save our species,” Gina says.

“Gina!” Sissily and Alia hiss angrily in unison.

“He deserves to know why he’s been kidnapped!” she snaps. “Besides, if he’s not Hiari – it doesn’t really matter what he knows or doesn’t know. We don’t have the strength to keep searching.”

“What is happening to your species?” Sam asks quietly.

They look at him like they forgot he was there. “We’re dying out. We are the last generation. Most of our Hiari, our males, have died. Our Shaman had a vision of a healthy Hiari in a small mountain town. You- you and your companions fit the images she saw in her vision. We were sure it was you.”

Sam isn’t at all surprised to learn the nature of their situation. He does wonder, however, if kidnapping their males is a normal part of their culture. And he still wonders if there is some connection between these women showing up and the women dying in this town.  

“The guy you’re looking for - he’s probably still in the area, right? I mean, maybe you haven’t found him yet because you were focused on me.”

“It’s possible . . .” The women look at each other, and Sam thinks he sees a glimmer of hope in their expressions.

“Look. We’re going to be in town for a few days, until we figure out who’s killing people here. After that, if you haven’t found your Hiari guy, we could help you look.”

Lyra gapes at him. “Why would you help us after what we did to you?”

“Let’s just say I understand desperation.”  


	6. Dean is lost, Dean is found, Dean is Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas are back on the case, trying to find the guy who murdered three women, and trying to figure out how to get Sam back from wherever he may be. Dean, feeling vulnerable and alone, allows himself a luxury he wouldn't have even considered before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long! I rewrote this chapter at least 7 times. In the meantime, my husband tore ligaments in his foot, my kiddo had dental surgery and we're trying to get my oldest son shipped off to college. Anyhoo . . . hope you enjoy!

Breeze blows through the rolled down windows of the Impala as Dean drives them to the home of the third victim’s sister. The sun is shining, the air is fresh, the birds are singing, and all of it pisses Dean off.

Dean’s tie feels overly tight around his neck, but he resists the urge to tug it off. He glances at Cas, whose suit is slightly too big and hangs a little too loosely off his body. Dean imagines how he would look in a suit tailored to fit his firm stomach, his muscular thighs . . . with a shirt whose slightly opened collar revealed just a little tease of the smooth skin of his throat . . . pants that showcased his perfect waist . . .

Dean drives over a curb.

“Inadequate postage was placed on a screaming butt cell, and the species is now extinct!” he swears, cringing.

Cas touches his arm. Dean shrugs free and pretends he’s not humiliated.

They reach their destination without any more incidents. The place is a lot classier than Dean expected. Although the apartment building’s obviously old, the lawn is green and trimmed and the entryway is lined with brightly colored flowers. Water burbles from a small, rock-lined fountain near the office, and birdfeeders on its windows are currently attracting hummingbirds.

No one’s in the lobby, so they simply head up the stairs to the second floor. Gold numbers on the fourth door down the hallway identify room 207. Cas hesitates before knocking and turns to Dean. “Perhaps I should do the talking.”

Dean rolls his eyes, thankful the curse allows him that small satisfaction, at least. He doesn’t know if Cas is joking or serious, because he deadpans everything. Cas frowns at him. He knocks, and before long the door is opened by an attractive redhead. Her face falls as she sees the two of them standing in the hallway.

“Yes, what now?” she asks warily, obviously identifying them as law enforcement.

As Cas pulls out his FBI badge, Dean has to stop himself from looking to see if it’s right side up.

“Miss Tilson? I’m Agent Snoop and this is my partner, Agent Dogg.”

Dean’s eyes shut. _Oh God. Snoop Dogg? Really? We’re boned before we even start._

 _Wait. Did I just make a_ dog bone _joke? Oh_ GOD _._

The woman looks skeptical. “Why is the FBI here?

“You have a serial killer in your town, Miss Tilson. We’re here to find him.” As Cas puts away his badge, she seems to suddenly realize there’s a super hot guy at her door. She checks Cas out from head to toe and back up.

 _Isn’t she supposed to be grieving?_   Dean remembers just in time that he can’t say anything, so he scowls instead.

“Hmm.  The cops didn’t mention they’d called in the FBI. And I certainly talked to ‘em enough times.” She smiles flirtatiously at Cas. “Can’t say I mind, though.”

“We just want to ask you a few questions.”

“Sure thing, doll.” She apparently remembers Dean’s standing there, and glances at him before her eyes return to _Agent Snoop_. “Come on in.”

She shuts the door behind them. They walk into the apartment and find themselves in the middle of hoarder hell. Every piece of furniture in the living room is covered with shirts, lingerie, shoes, jackets, jeans, and dresses. A shampoo bottle lays empty next to a pearly-white puddle on the carpet. An overturned birdcage, a softball bat, a pile of books and an empty bag for a bowling ball are stacked in a weird pile that resembles the Leaning Tower of Pisa.    

“You’ll have to pardon the mess,” she says to Cas, apparently having once again forgotten Dean’s existence. “I’m going through my sister’s things, and well, she had a lot of things.”

“Did your sister have any enemies?” Cas asks, looking around the room as if the killer might be hiding under a pile of towels or a mountain of socks.

 _No one needs that many socks_ , Dean thinks, and no, he’s _not_ being petty.

“Enemies? Don’t serial killers pick strangers?”

“Uh, I don’t - it’s a routine question, ma’am.”

She hums and walks toward the kitchen. “Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thank you. Just answer the question – please ...” Cas tilts his head and stares after her.

I _could use some friggin coffee. But don’t mind me._ Dean glares at Cas, but his attention is currently drawn to their interviewee.

Dean watches Miss Tilson disappear into the kitchen and return with a steaming cup of coffee. Dean wonders if the curse has now made him invisible. He looks down at his hands and is somewhat reassured that he can still see them.  

“Uh, as I was saying. Did your sister ever mention anyone wanting to kill her?”

“You mean, did she ever suggest that someone wanted her to starve herself to death?” She scoffs, then walks over to her coffee table and shoves a bunch of clothes out of the way before setting her coffee down. Her face suddenly crumples as she turns back to look at Cas. “She – how did I not notice what was happening? I mean, we haven’t seen a lot of each other lately, we’ve both been busy. But still, she wasted away right in front of me and I didn’t even notice!” Her eyes tear up, and she walks closer to Cas.

Cas doesn’t seem to notice. “I know this is a, uh, difficult time. But could you tell us what happened the day your sister disappeared?”

Dean shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot. This is the most awkward interview he’s been part of in his entire life. Or _not_ been part of. Whatever. They still need to find out what happened. He hopes Cas gets the details quickly so they can get the hell out of here.  

“Of course.” She sniffles and grabs a tissue to wipe her face. As she pulls herself back together, she licks her lips while she (not at all subtly) stares at Cas’s. Dean finds it hard to believe she’s actually upset about her sister’s death, despite the tears. “We were planning to meet some friends for a picnic at the park. She left work a few hours early to pick up some food and save us a spot. When the weather’s nice, the park fills up pretty quickly,” she explains.

“And that was the last time anyone heard from her?” Cas asks.

“Yes. We know she made it to the store, because we found – we found -” she bursts into tears and collapses forward into Cas’s arms. Startled, he reflexively wraps his arms around her.

 _What the fuck? Really?_ Dean tries to get Cas’s attention, but he’s apparently more concerned with the redhead in his arms than in Dean’s fake-coughing.

 _Does he have to hold her that close?_ Dean wonders irritably. The embrace continues as the sobbing woman clings to Cas. _Doesn’t he know he doesn’t have to hold on this long? Socially acceptable comfort hugs only last ten seconds at the absolute most! What the hell is he doing?_

Dean clears his throat in a second attempt to be noticed, but Cas ignores him. He’s actually murmuring something in her ear, and she’s nodding. Okay, this – this sucks.

From out of nowhere, he thinks: _Cas can comfort a complete stranger, hold her close and whisper to her that they’ll find whoever did this (or whatever the hell he’s telling her). But me- me he leaves alone in a damn hotel room when I can’t talk._

Fuck, this needs to stop. He’s a grown man. He doesn’t need a babysitter.

Another few seconds go by, and Dean’s had enough. If he watches this woman ( _girl! She’s like- millions of years younger than you!_ ) cling to Cas any longer he’s going to be sick. He decides to head back to the motel. He opens his mouth to claim he isn’t feeling well and needs to leave, but (again) stops himself from trying to speak. With a sigh, he simply turns and leaves the apartment.

It’s the first time he’s ever walked out on an interview.

He knows leaving Cas is a dick move, but he convinces himself it's okay because their motel is less than a mile away. Cas can walk.  And the only danger he could possibly be in in that woman's apartment was getting lost between the living room and the door.

*****

Dean sits at Sam’s computer, googling furiously, trying to find something out about the women who took Sam. He’s finding jack with a side of squat, and it’s not even helping take his mind off Cas. And why is his mind even _on_ Cas? Why the hell is he so bothered by that woman flinging herself at him?

He hears the bleep of a keycard and the door opens. Cas looks at him with wary concern as he sits on the edge of the bed and sinks down into the zebra print bedcover. Dean thinks absurdly that it was probably made from real zebras.

“Dean? Are you alright? What happened? Why’d you leave?” Cas looks so concerned that Dean almost forgets he’s angry. Except –

_How does he expect me to answer? Did he forget I can’t speak?_

“Everyone aspires to adjust the color of their pillows to match my blisters, but not everyone can afford the peanut butter,” Dean says evenly. “People who open doors and forget to walk through them are potentially dangerous and should not be allowed to set their alarms for 3:60 p.m. My desperate attempts to manipulate a collection of spores and fungus failed miserably.”

Cas’s crushed expression almost makes Dean feel bad. Almost.

“Dean-”

“Oh shit, said the toilet paper. Who gave that aquarium permission to surround my fish?”

“Dean, stop.”

Dean shuts the lid on Sam’s laptop and shoves his chair back. How did his life get so fucked so quickly? They are no closer to solving the case and no closer to finding Sam.

“We’ll find Sam,” Cas says quietly, as if reading his mind. Hell, he probably is.

Dean’s head falls back as he closes his eyes and sighs. To his surprise, he feels a warm hand squeeze his thigh. He opens one eye to find Cas staring at him intently.

“Dean – I know I’ve failed you. I’ve failed you both,” he says.

 _Where did that come from?_ Surprised, Dean frantically blinks his eyes twice to tell Cas no. If this mess is anyone’s fault, it’s his own. He’s the one who flipped out. He’s the one who drove them both away.

To his surprise Cas reaches up and gently cups his face. “Dean -”

Instead of giving in to his automatic instinct to pull away, he leans into Cas’s touch. He feels so desperately alone. He can’t talk, and Sam is gone. Dean’s lips part as he looks at Cas, whose face is just inches from his. Whatever Cas sees written on his face (loneliness? terror? lust? all three?) is apparently –

Dean’s thoughts stop altogether when Cas pulls him out of the chair and he practically lands in his lap on the bed. He’s not sure who leans in first, but suddenly his lips are pressed against Cas’s. Instead of the soft, lipstick-smooth lips he’s used to, Cas feels rough and gentle at the same time. Dean’s tongue slides into Cas’s mouth before it occurs to him that he’s _kissing Cas._ His mouth tastes like apples and coffee, and Cas kisses like a porn star. He’s got more enthusiasm than a cat with a bag of catnip. All the tension in Dean’s muscles melts away. He slides his hands beneath Cas’s coat and jacket and pushes them off his shoulders. The fingers gently stroking through his hair barely distract him from the lips that are sucking on his, the tongue that’s poking his teeth, and the wet slurpy sounds their mouths are making.

Dean’s hands wander up and down Cas’s arms, squeezing into the thick muscles as Cas moans. He wants to feel skin, not clothes, so he untucks Cas’s shirt out of his pants and runs his fingers up the smooth, warm skin of his back. Cas meanwhile has worked his way from Dean’s mouth to his neck and is brushing light, soft kisses near his collarbone. Dean hears moaning and grunting and realizes it might be coming from him.

Cas pulls back, and the whimper Dean hears _definitely_ came from him. Cas is looking at him and Dean feels completely helpless beneath that stare. His eyes are full of wonder and longing and hope, and it’s a nice change from the emotionless lust he usually sees in the eyes of his partners. He reaches up to put his fingers in the soft mess that Cas calls hair. They fall back onto the bed, and Dean’s dick rubs against Cas’s.

Cas gasps and wraps his arms around Dean like vice grips, and Dean decides right then and there that if Cas wants to lay like this forever, he’s completely down with it. Cas pulls Dean’s t-shirt up in the back and scratches his nails across his back. Dean pushes himself up like he’s doing a push up and stares down at Cas. He’s drawn to those lips, so thick and pink, and he falls down against them, pressing his mouth against Cas’s in a chaste kiss so he can savor the feel of them. Cas has other plans. He grabs Dean by the waist and flips him over. Dean’s mouth falls open as he lands bonelessly on the bed. Cas crawls on top of him and leans in to kiss Dean’s neck. That glorious, soft hair brushes against his stubbly cheek.

Then Cas’s mouth finds his earlobe. He nibbles gently before slipping the tip of his tongue into Dean’s ear. It’s warm and wet and strange and Dean likes it. Dean thinks he’s going to die, right here in this crappy hotel, if Cas doesn’t touch him. He wants Cas to rip off his jeans and take him in his hand, and Dean doesn’t care if it’s rough and vicious or gentle and loving just so _he puts his hands on him._

Cas seems to read his mind ( _again_ ) and his hand finds the waistband of Dean’s jeans. He opens them with supernatural efficiency and graceful, perfect fingers wrap around him. Dean has wanted Cas for so long, and now his hand is squeezing him, and then Dean breathes, “My beard slid off my face and erased my calendar, so I don’t know when to celebrate the Invention of Modern Firehoses.”

He freezes. _Why did I have to open my mouth?_ he thinks bitterly as he turns his face away. Cas pauses, then leans back down to continue where he left off, but Dean pushes him off.

“Dean,” he whispers. “What is it?”

“My legs are exploding again. I get so tired of hunting down the pieces.” Dean feels the flush deepening on his face as he stares at Cas. God, he looks so disappointed. Dean’s never been this humiliated, not ever. He jumps off the bed, zipping his jeans up. What was he thinking? He can’t do this, not to himself and not to Cas.

“Dean, don’t leave. Not now.”

Dean shakes his head as he grabs his keys and runs out the door, leaving Cas staring open-mouthed behind him.


	7. Treeal Estate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean head into the woods to look for the killer, the boogeyman, Sam . . . whomever they can find first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a super short chapter, I cut it off sooner than I'd planned, but I haven't updated in a while (because surgery and intensive care - the last month has sucked) and this way, I get to leave you with a little cliffhanger . . .

Dean mopes as Cas leads him to the park’s sandy playground, where the police reported the bodies were found. Brightly colored, well cared for swings, climbing walls, slides, and other structures fill the sandy play area. A few faded wooden picnic tables are scattered around, and two trailheads lead into the woods. A small duck pond on the other side of the playground is currently hosting a number of geese.

Castiel isn’t sure what happened. Dean can’t speak coherently, but he can still communicate, and his _body_ was certainly communicating. Cas isn’t sure what came over him when he pulled Dean into his lap; he hadn’t thought about it, it just seemed like something they both wanted. And Dean – maybe he’d just needed comfort, but he was responding.

Then he’d just stopped. He must have regained his senses and realized he was making out with his _creepy, non human, male friend_. Cas’s shoulders slump as he watches Dean.

Dean briefly scans the sand. He squats down and trails his fingers over it, looking thoughtful, before he starts for the trailheads.

They walk in silence for several minutes, winding deeper into the woods. The park’s forest feels oddly unnatural, sunlight is barely penetrating the tree tops, and Cas hears no sounds of life.

Looking at Dean beside him, he ventures, “I sense no life here, other than the trees and plant life.” Dean nods thoughtfully but doesn’t attempt words.

“I believe the so-called “forbidden forest” begins about half-mile after this trail ends. While I was looking into the case this morning, I managed to convince a jogger to give me directions. She was – hesitant, and called me an “idiot tourist” for wanting to go there.” Cas wrinkles his forehead. “She said normally she would never tell someone how to get in there, because they were unlikely to come out. But she said for some reason she thought I’d be okay. She also said to watch out for poison ivy.” Dean actually stops and turns to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“You look – surprised.” His eyes narrow as he stares at Dean. “I may not be as good as you are at talking to people, but I’m learning. I can be persuasive.”

Dean’s expression turns to horror for a brief second before returning to its former impassiveness. Cas tilts his head and studies Dean. He carries the weight of the world on his back; he always has. But now he has no Sam to share it with, and Cas is afraid that weight will crush him. He feels selfish for wondering if Dean is thinking of him. He’s dying to know if any part of him enjoyed the few moments of intimacy, or if he found the whole experience repulsive.  

A hand on his shoulder brings his attention back. Dean stares at him intently, now looking worried. He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head in the direction that leads deeper into the woods. They resume walking in the bizarre silence of the woods. It’s almost worse than the bizarre silence between the two of them.

Even their footsteps sound flat and dull. Dean walks into an abandoned spider web and frantically brushes it off. They reach a barrier made from heavy logs that blocks off the half-existing path into the deep forest. On either side of the path the trees and brush are way too thick to try and climb through.

“This must be it,” Cas mumbles, testing the barrier. “We’re going to have to climb it.” He takes a step forward, only to be stopped by Dean’s hand on his shoulder. Cas turns and Dean is inches from his face. He blinks “no” and pokes Cas in the chest with his finger.

Drawing his eyebrows, Cas wonders what Dean’s trying to tell him. Dean opens and closes his mouth several times but says nothing. As he looks away, Cas sees him biting his lip in frustration. Without thinking he reaches up to touch Dean’s lip, but Dean pushes his hand away and grimaces. Cas closes his eyes so Dean doesn’t see the hurt in them.

Dean’s silence is unnerving. Cas misses the way his face lights up when he makes a bad joke…hell, he even misses Dean arguing with him. As much as it bothers Cas, it’s got to be killing Dean.

Killing Dean.

What if the spell is doing more to him than scrambling his words?

Cas takes a deep breath. _Don’t panic_ , he tells himself. Until they know more about the spell, there’s nothing he can do. He needs to focus on finding Sam and figuring out who’s killing the women in this town. It’s the only way he can help Dean.

 Cas tilts his head and studies him a minute. Dean holds his gaze. “Levitating frogs don’t need stairs but do require doorknob polish to join the distressed and decreasing ranks of stripeless pillow cases.”

Dean loses his last grip on whatever was holding him together and falls against Cas. Startled, Cas wraps an arm around his hips and pulls him close while threading his other hand into Dean’s hair. He gently guides Dean’s head to rest against his shoulder. Dean’s hands are under his coat, fists grabbing his shirt like a drowning man grabs a rope. They stand like that, for minutes or hours, Cas isn’t sure.

“I will fix this,” Cas whispers finally. “I will fix all of it.” Dean pulls back and looks at him. He takes a deep breath and continues, knowing he has to say the rest to be fair to Dean. “And if I can’t-”

Dean recoils with a look of betrayal and Cas flinches. Maybe his communication skills aren’t as good as he thought.

“If I can’t,” he continues, in spite of Dean’s glare, “I will find a way for you to live with it.”

“Octopus joints lick ballpoint pens!” Dean hisses.

Cas sighs. “Let’s just see if we can find something useful here. We’re losing daylight.”

*****

They trudge through vines, branches and dirt, using only Cas’s sense of direction and the words of a stranger to guide them. They find no trace of evil, no man in black and no evidence of more victims.

“I don’t understand,” Cas mutters, pausing to let Dean catch his breath.

Dean, however, continues along the incline in the direction they’ve been going. He stops at the top and turns to look at Cas with huge eyes. He points frantically at something out of Cas’s range of vision.

Cas hurries up to join him and stops short at the sight of a house that’s been literally built into the trees. Disregarding the laws of physics (and biology), it wraps around and through at least six large tree trunks. The forest almost completely hides its existence. Its walls are covered with bark. The bottom of the house hovers four or five feet above the ground. Perhaps the weirdest part of all: there’s no way to get in or out of it. There are no doors, windows, or openings of any kind.

Maybe it _is_ a boogeyman. There’s no way a human convinced the trees to let them build a house like that. Cas grabs his angel blade, the cool, familiar weight of it settling into his hand. Somehow he’ll have to keep Dean from doing something reckless and stupid.

He understands his state of mind.

Dean grabs his arm to get his attention. He looks at the house, then back to Cas. Without further warning he pulls a large knife from his coat and begins slicing his way through the brush. They were lucky the forest had thinned out a little, or they never would have seen the house. Cas follows.

After twenty minutes of desperate searching, Cas gives up trying to find a way in. There are no physical openings, no magically hidden doors, no tunnels in the surrounding area that could somehow lead into the house. There are simply no ways to enter. If Sam is in there, they’ll need a miracle to get him out. If _El Sombrerón_ is in there, they’ll have to _wait_ him out.

Cas doubts they have that kind of time.

Dean has apparently come to the same conclusion; he's bent over, resting his hands just above his knees.

One option remains open to him. He didn’t want to consider it, because if it failed, Dean would be alone. He didn’t know if it would work, and he wasn’t sure what he’d do if it did work. For all he knew, he could end up inside the tree.

 But, Sam.

 “I’m going to teleport inside,” he announced.

 “Don’t smooth out the moon! It likes its craters!” Dean throws his hands up in frustration. Apparently he guessed what the risks are too.

No need to draw it out.

Cas disappears.


	8. The Forest Keeps Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas check out their lead in the woods . . . and Dean gets the surprise of his life.

 

As Cas disassembles his atoms and slips out of time, he focuses on finding a destination inside the tree house. The entire area surrounding it feels awkward and unnatural. The trees are silent, and he senses no living insects, birds or animals nearby, which is worrisome.

Teleporting into a structure that he can’t fully sense is nearly impossible . . . and certainly inadvisable. But they’ve run out of options for finding Sam.

_Something feels wrong. Something’s interfering-_

He tries to reassemble his atoms where he thinks the center of the treehouse is. Something blocks his passage, and he smashes against a barrier. The delineations of a pinkish-hued shield appear around the trees as Cas’s atoms scatter into the ether.

The small amount of grace he’s so painstakingly managed to recover panics. It reactively ensnares his particles as the strange shield’s energy tries to force its way between them. His tiny bit of angelic energy is the only thing keeping Cas from being scattered across the Universe.

The eternity Cas spends struggling outside of time to (literally) pull himself together is imperceptible in Dean’s timeline. The thirty seconds or so that he spends reconstituting himself in Dean’s reality, however, happens right in front of Dean. Cas isn’t exactly sure what Dean might be witnessing, but his hunter’s senses must be lighting up like a stoned Santa at Christmas.

As he fully materializes, pain ricochets from the tips of his now incorporeal wings to his toes. His eyes, once again able to see color in a physical realm, scan through the several thousand variations of green he can detect in the forest. He’s thrown backward and lands gracelessly in the dirt with a thud, his angel blade dropping to the ground next to him.

Dean is instantly kneeling by his side. On the surface he looks calm, but Cas recognizes tension in the set of his jaw and carefully controlled anxiety hidden behind his eyes. Dean’s hands search Cas’s body for injuries. His fingers pull Cas’s face toward him, anxiously peering into his eyes. Cas stares back, taking in the tiny flecks of gold sprinkled among the green, and thinks Dean’s eyes are possibly the most beautiful things in Creation. He may be a little dazed from the impact, but the grace of the man he rescued from Hell anchors him to reality.

Dean clears his throat, almost as if he senses Cas’s line of thought and is embarrassed by it. He narrows his eyes and Castiel knows what he would say if he could: _Don’t do that stupid shit again._ He tries to sit up and Dean shoves him roughly back onto the ground.

“If your stomach itches, do not, under any circumstances, attempt to scratch it yourself! Hire a professional!”

After a (very effective) attempt at glaring his righteous anger straight into Cas’s brain, Dean sits back, throws his arms up and looks away. The dead quiet of the forest, combined with the rapidly fading daylight, sits like a shroud of misery around them.

Cas gets to his feet, careful not to let Dean see how much his body’s hurting. The reserves of grace he’d managed to regain over the last weeks are gone, and he’s not looking forward to Dean finding out.

It’s the least of his worries right now, though. They need to get out of the woods before dark or risk getting lost. He reaches out a hand to Dean to pull him up. Dean shoves his hand away.

Cas drops his eyes. “It must be warded,” he says awkwardly, feeling foolish and rejected and powerless. “I’ve never encountered anything like that before. And I don’t know why I didn’t feel it before I-” He winces involuntarily. _Before I nearly let it turn me into nothing more than ash in the wind._ “What I don’t understand is, why would a boogeyman need wards? Who is he afraid of?”  

Dean glances at him expressionlessly, then walks over to the trees. Cas watches him run his fingers along the bark. Dean was able to walk right through the shield. Interesting - humans apparently aren’t considered a threat by whomever is using this place.

“Dean, be careful,” he says lamely. He can’t protect Dean if something goes wrong inside that barrier, and it makes him anxious. He gets as close as he can, anxiously watching the trees and the bizarre house for any sign of movement.

“Round bricks roll easier,” Dean snaps. He rolls his eyes and shoes him away with his hand.

Reluctantly leaving Dean, he circles the perimeter. He’s close enough to the shield to feel the electric pulsing of its edge. It’s likely generated from inside, so his odds of finding a way to penetrate it or disable it are basically zero. He runs a hand over his face and sighs.

After a few moments, he hears Dean yell, “Windswept dog feet cower by greasy lightbulbs!”

Cas hurries over to him. His trenchcoat flaps around his legs as the wind begins blowing. Dean looks at him with raised eyebrows, then turns and nods his head toward the woods. Cas follows his gaze and sees dots of red scattered on the trees. It looks like some sort of writing.

Dean glances at Cas with a look that clearly says, _let’s go check this out._ He circles the perimeter of the shield to where Dean is and follows him. His entire body hurts – every cell is protesting his movement. He feels like every atom in his body has been hit by a truck.

They make their way further back through the trees and brush.

Dean reaches the first symbol and snorts. He runs his finger across it and studies his fingers before holding them up for Cas to see. Tacky red blood covers his fingertips. Someone apparently tried to ward the forest with Enochian sigils, but they didn’t know what they were doing; the markings were incorrectly drawn. No wonder Cas hadn’t sensed anything.

“How do they know about angels,” Cas murmurs. Dean shrugs. Cas looks up at Dean and freezes at what he sees.

“Last night Congress repealed the laws of Physics,” Dean says inquisitively.

Cas simply continues to stare at him.

“My clock is rotating clockwise.” He raises his hands questioningly, looking exasperated.

“It’s going to get dark soon,” Cas manages to say. “There’s nothing more we can do here.”

Without a word, Dean heads back the way they came. He suspects they’re running out of time even faster than they realized. Cas hopes, for his own sanity, Dean doesn’t notice the glowing purple hue he’s emitting.

*****

Dean was reluctant to leave the woods without entering the tree house, but he’s well aware they need a different plan. Sam could be trapped in there, or he could be somewhere else entirely. As they enter their hotel room, he checks his phone, desperately hoping for a missed call message.

There isn’t one.

He falls onto the middle of the bed and runs his hands over the cheap, scratchy bed cover. He doesn’t feel like himself at all, and Cas has been distant since they left the woods. Maybe he’s giving up.

Suddenly Dean has an idea. There _is_ one way to communicate that he hasn’t tried yet. He can’t believe he didn’t think of it sooner.

He leaps off the bed and grabs Cas by the front of his coat. He looks intently into his eyes from just a few inches away, making sure he has his absolute, complete attention.

“Dean -”

Not breaking eye contact, Dean steps back and puts his hand above his head to indicate ‘tall’.

Cas tilts his head. Dean can’t help but notice the unkempt mess of thick hair. Cas truly has no idea how sexy his bedhead is. It’s not fair.

“What are you trying to say?” he asks cautiously.

Dean frantically slices the air above him back and forth with his hand. Thinking quickly, he points to the table, then mimes opening a laptop and typing on it.

“Dean. Are you – are you trying to say ‘Sam’?” he asks excitedly.

Dean blinks once for yes.

The beginning of their breakthrough is interrupted by the sound of sirens. Dean draws back the curtain and sees the flashing lights of two police cars speeding up the street. He can’t know for sure, but he’s fairly certain he knows where they’re going.

“I’ll go check it out.” Cas, who seems completely frantic, leaves so quickly he almost forgets to open the door before walking out.

He stares after him. Suddenly he realizes Cas has the Impala keys, and he plans to leave him here _again._ He runs after him, but Cas is already pulling out of the parking lot.

_How the hell did he move that quickly?_ Dean wonders furiously. _And what – does he think I’m incompetent because I can’t talk? If he thinks I’m gonna let him just_ leave _me here -_

His father’s voice fills his head. _“He already did. I raised you better’n this, Dean. Your brother’s still out there. The killer’s still out there. And you’re standing around feeling sorry for yourself. How’re you gonna live with yourself if something happens to Sam?”_

Feeling defeated, Dean goes back inside. He paces frantically for a few seconds before he decides to steal a car and go after Cas. He needs to get this situation under control.

Someone pounds on the door heavily enough to shake it in its frame. Dean’s muscles tense up: Cas wouldn’t knock, and he sure as hell didn’t order pizza. He pockets his phone, grabs his gun, and releases the safety. Opening the door gun first, he’s utterly unprepared for what he sees.

“If you see a tentacle, throw it in the shower, but don’t let it crawl through the pipes!” he shrieks.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient! This isn't a long chapter, but we're getting closer . . .


	9. Chapter 9

“Dean! Put the gun down!”

Sam is standing calmly in front of two very tall women. Dean recognizes one of them, Gina, from the diner. The other one he doesn’t know, but she has some faded bruises around her eye and mouth. Maybe Sam attacked her to get away? But then why would he bring them back here?

Dean continues pointing the gun over Sam’s shoulder, aiming it at Gina. She was one of the kidnappers; he doesn’t know yet how the other one’s involved.

Sam put his hands up. “Dean! It’s alright! They’re not criminals. They’re just people who need help. Put the gun _down_.”

Slowly, warily, Dean lowers his weapon. Physically, Sam looks okay, but maybe they’ve brainwashed him. Or hypnotized him. Or, maybe he just believed whatever bullshit story they were feeding him, because Sam likes to believe people are inherently good.

 _Are you okay?_ Dean automatically tries to ask. Instead he says, “the escaped convection current is to be considered armed, legged, and extremely deactivated!”

Sam’s eyes never leave Dean as he slowly pushes the door open and walks into the motel room. The women start to follow, and Dean raises his gun again.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Sam snaps. “Give me the damn gun before someone gets hurt.”

Dean hesitates for a split second, and Sam leaps forward and grabs it from his hands. He puts the safety on and tucks it into the back of his jeans while Dean stares at him, dumbfounded. Sam got the jump on him? How? What’s happening to him?

“Now,” Sam says, “tell me what the hell is going on. Why are you talking about convection currents? Is that some kind of code?”

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say anything, Sam is grabbing his hands and staring at them like they’ve grown extra fingers.

“Why are you glowing purple?” he asks quietly.

Dean jerks his hands away and looks at them. The weird purple hue they’d seen around town was now surrounding his fingers. His arms were unaffected, and a quick look up and down his body showed no other glowing areas. The urge to check inside his jeans and make sure Little Dean wasn’t glowing was almost insurmountable.

He held his palms close to each other, and felt an invisible force pushing against them. When had that started? How had he not noticed? Had Cas noticed? He stepped back, trying to keep his face neutral. It didn’t help that Sam and the women were looking at him like he might be radioactive.

Shit. What if he was _radioactive_? 

Sam interrupts this disturbing line of thought when he glances around the hotel room. “Where’s Cas?”

Dean snorts. How the hell is he supposed to answer that? It’s not even important right now, he decides. What’s important is getting Sam to realize those crazy giants casually hanging out _right behind him_ have cursed him.

“Drinking newspaper ink instead of molten ear wax creates tornadoes,” he says.

Sam’s eyes grow wide. “How much have you been drinking?” he asks incredulously. “Cut it out, Dean.”

Dean’s patience has worn very, very thin. Sam cannot possibly be this dense. He’s _Sam._ “A seventeenth-century witch was reincarnated by a mischievous caterpillar, and now the second hand on my watch runs backwards.”

“Did you hit your head or something? What the hell happened?” Sam now sounds legitimately concerned. So he’s making progress.

“If you see my piano keys reveal themselves to Peter’s Siamese cat, launch crustaceans at the moon and see how quickly you can get them there.”

Sam slowly reaches for Dean and puts a hand to his forehead. “No fever,” he mumbles to himself.

Dean throws his hands up and rolls his eyes. It’s not like he can tell him what’s going on.

But . . . maybe he can _show_ him.

He points frantically to the women behind Sam, then dramatically drops to the ground and points to his mouth and throat. Then he points to the women again.

Sam looks behind himself in confusion. The women are looking at each other uncomfortably.

“They didn’t do anything to you, Dean. They were with me the entire time. And – charades? Really?”

Dean glares at Sam. He’s going to have bruises on his elbows now, and Sam is standing there _defending them_. And he still hasn’t figured out that Dean can’t talk? Angrily, he gets to his feet and grabs a handful of Sam’s red and brown flannel shirt. He jabs a finger in the direction of the woods, then points to the women.

“I stole a chunk of outer space, but it was unable to console the boiling troll lips,” Dean says deliberately.

He throws up his hands and glares at his companions. “Do you have any idea what’s going on here?”

Gina and the other woman appear nervous.

“If you know something and don’t tell me, you can forget about my offer to help,” Sam threatens.

 _Offer to help? Help with_ what _?_

“Alia, tell him.”

The other woman (named _Alia_ , apparently) takes a deep breath. She tucks her hair behind her ear and glances at Gina, who nods.

“We haven’t used curses in a very long time,” she says, a trifle defensively. “But we are – familiar with them. And it would seem that your brother has fallen victim to such a curse, although I can assure you, none of us had reason to do it.”

“I’m assuming you have magic to reverse this kind of spell.”

Before they can answer, the hotel room door opens and Cas strides through. His eyes move from Dean to Sam to the women in less than a second. He shoves Sam away from the women and pulls his angel blade out.

“Cas stop! I already went through this with Dean! They’re not a threat to us!”

Cas turns to Sam with narrowed eyes. Dean nods at him, and Cas relaxes.

“Are you alright?” he asks Sam suspiciously.

Sam briefly recounts everything that’s just happened. Cas listens without commenting.

“Where the hell have you been?” Sam asks when he’s finished.

“I was following a lead. We saw emergency response vehicles racing up the street, so I followed them. There is another victim.”

Alia seats herself on the closest bed, and to Dean’s surprise, she is clearly upset. “Another victim?” she asks warily.

“Yes. She was found in exactly the same condition as the others; there was sand in her mouth, and her body was wasted away as if she hadn’t eaten in months.”

“Have the police come up with any more theories? Did you see anything they might have missed?” Sam asks.

Cas ventures a glance at Alia before seating himself beside her on the bed. She smiles sweetly at him, and he smiles back. Dean bites his tongue to keep himself from strangling them both.

“I did see – something,” Cas says, frowning. “There was a shadow – someone was watching the crime scene from the edge of the forest. I’m sure it was our monster. I saw him head into the woods. I followed him for a while, but, Dean – the warding in the woods? They fixed it. I couldn’t get near him.”

 _So they must have seen us and recognized Cas as an angel. They somehow figured out how to fix the warding. What in the_ hell _are we dealing with?_

“Your condition is unchanged?” he asks, stealing a peek at Dean’s hands.

“Without further delay, time will begin dragging a dog slowly through a keyhole.”

Cas is about to say something when Sam looks at Gina and asks, “what are you going to do to help Dean?”

“Alia and I don’t have the power to counteract a curse. Our strength has been diminishing. But there is one of us who might be able to help.”

*****

Lyra arrives at the motel room an hour later. She is pale and skittish looking, Dean thinks, and doesn’t inspire any confidence at all. He’s not afraid of having more magic used on him, he realizes; he’s afraid it won’t work.

“Which of you is the cursed one?” she asks, looking between Cas and Dean.

“If you see my piano keys reveal themselves to Peter’s Siamese cat, launch crustaceans at the moon and see how quickly you can get them there.”

Lyra stares at him in silence for a moment, then looks to the others. “I’ll need your energy.”

Gina looks nervous. “We barely have enough to sustain our -”

“We must help.” She looks Dean over like he’s a steak. “You. Come to me.”

Gina and Alia exchange looks, then grab each other’s hands as the three of them encircle Dean. They’re so close he can feel their body heat. He waits for them to speak Latin, or at least chant, or maybe pull rabbits out of their pockets. They do none of these things. They make no sound at all.  

Several minutes pass before they even move. Dean feels his hands warm up, as if he’s holding them over a space heater. Suddenly they begin to rise on their own. He struggles against the involuntary movement, but he has no control of his hands whatsoever. Even worse, the purple glow has become dark like thick fog. The three giants are glowing with the same color.

“Woah,” he hears Sam say. He’s dimly aware that Cas has gotten as close to the little group as he possibly can without interfering.

Still, the trio makes no sound. The purple fades to pink, then light pink, and then it disappears entirely. Dean’s hands drop to his sides, and the women draw in deep breaths and open their eyes.

“Well?” Sam asks impatiently.

Lyra slumps to the ground. Her nose is bleeding. “This magic is familiar, but – I have no idea how to counteract it. I’ve never encountered a curse this powerful; even if I knew how to reverse it, we don’t have enough energy to do it.”

Gina leans on the table for support; Alia collapses onto the bed. They’ve obviously burned up whatever sort of power they had.

Dean stares at the ground. He can’t even look at Sam or Cas. If these women can’t undo the curse put on him by one of their own kind – there really is no hope.

Distantly, he feels Cas’s hand squeeze his shoulder. He hears Sam trying to reassure him: “we’ll find another way, Dean.” He sees pity in the eyes of the woman on the floor. It’s too much.  

He grabs the Impala keys from off the bed where Cas left them, and storms out of the room.

*****

“Let him go, Cas,” Sam tells Cas when he gets up to follow Dean. “He just needs a little time to deal with everything.” But even Sam looks worried, and Cas watches the door anxiously.

“Anyway,” Sam says, seeming reluctant, “tell Cas and I about the man you’re trying to find, this _Hiari_.”

Cas looks at him, confused. Now they’re helping these women? That feeling of a very old presence is plaguing him again, but Sam seems unconcerned. And they did try to help Dean.

Lyra is in the bathroom trying to stop her nosebleed. Gina takes a deep breath and begins their story.

“Hiari is what we call the men we can procreate with. They’ve been dying off, and no one can figure out why. They seem perfectly vital and healthy one minute, and the next minute they’re just gone. Dead. At this rate, our entire species will be gone within a generation.

“We had – intel, you could say, that led us to believe Hiari was here. And the description we were given matched you exactly. But now, now I wonder if we were led to you so you could help us find him.”

Lyra appears out of the bathroom. “We believe our Hiari has made himself some sort of dwelling here. He would want to be hidden; Hiari are reclusive.”

“Are they murderers?” Cas asks, folding his arms.

“No!” Gina responds. “They are passive. They abhor violence. Hiari wouldn’t hurt anyone, ever.”

Lyra adds, “Hiari love nature and avoid civilization as much as possible.”

Cas looks from one woman to the next. They look genuinely worried and upset. He believes them, although he’s never heard of such creatures in all his long existence.

“Would he build a nest in the forest?”

Lyra looks at him strangely. “That’s exactly what he’d do.”


End file.
